


Putting Your House In Order

by MirrorandImage



Category: RWBY
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Time Travel, aka the twins spend another eighty pages making Oz and Oscar talk, dadpin, why are we writing a time travel fic when we hate the trope?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:00:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29241720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MirrorandImage/pseuds/MirrorandImage
Summary: [In Progress] Ozpin wakes to a soul-crushing migraine, and from it somehow spawns... a future incarnation.
Relationships: Ozpin & Oscar Pine
Comments: 95
Kudos: 155





	1. Chapter 1

Ozpin woke with a crushing headache and an unnatural hum in his veins. He lay in bed, in too much pain to even open his eyes, brow furrowed as a spidering throb spread across his head, from back to front, crawling around his eyes sockets and then retreating back only to throb again. He took a deep, slow breath, trying to level out his heart rate, but the hum in his blood kept him alert, anxious. Something was happening, deep in his bones, and he shifted to try and calm himself down, only for the headache to spider back along his skull.

Something was wrong.

Something was very, very, wrong.

* * *

Glynda tapped through her scroll and her pad, confirming schedules and faculty meetings and interconnecting them to the pomp and circumstance of the Vytal Festival's opening ceremonies. Students had been arriving for the last week, keeping her busy. Ironwood had come with his students, which was as much a treat as trouble. He could handle his own students, but the man always had his own agenda and played politics a little too hard. Lionheart had abstained, something he rarely did, and Shade continued to be effectively invisible.

Ozpin always enjoyed the Vytal Festival, but this year was proving to be stressful with the recent attacks. Roman Torchwick and his criminal uprising was disturbing, and sudden escalations usually meant deeper conspiracies, as the headmaster often liked to say. The Faunus uprisings had been ticking up for several years now, but Vale generally fared better in that regard, because Ozpin was on the city council and he was a known Faunus sympathizer. She scoffed, Faunus _Advocate_ was the more accurate term but the world wasn't ready for that kind of truth yet.

Glynda moved up the elevator, seeing a new report from the Hunters posted at the borders on Grimm activity and checking off the request for a live beowulf for the students. She was glancing through the report as she entered the headmasters office, and as she looked up she was surprised to see the headmaster sitting at his desk - not filing through data or sipping from his academy mug but rather leaning on an elbow and holding his head very carefully.

Heels clicking along the floor, she asked, "Are you alright?"

"... Yes," Ozpin said after a long pause. "I have a headache."

Glynda frowned. "It must be bad if you're willing to mention it."

"Positively soul-crushing," the headmaster replied, straightening and trying to look at Glynda. He could barely open his eyes, and quickly went back to holding his head.

"Should we reschedule the faculty meeting?" Glynda asked, concerned.

"No," Ozpin replied. "Believe it or not it seems to be going away. This morning I couldn't even move."

Well, he was hardly moving _now_ , but then again he'd managed to get up and get dressed and make it to his office, so… Glynda took a deep breath through her nose. "Okay," she said slowly. "We can at least postpone the evaluation meetings until next week - by then the Festival will be well underway and classes will be slower. That should cut the meeting in half and the staff will be doing most of the presentations anyway."

"The Festival…?" Ozpin looked up; his eyes were more open now, rich dark brown looking miles away, the hint of a question in his tone. _That_ made Glynda stiffen and stare at the headmaster, giving him a more scrutinizing gaze. "The Festival didn't…" he started to say, before he winced and held his head again, swinging his chair to cross a leg and putting both hands to his forehead, rubbing along his hairline and his temples. "Yes, of course," he said instead. "With the students working on the Amity Project communications can be restored that much faster…"

"... Communications?" Glynda asked, keeping her voice as level as she could, reaching for her scroll.

Ozpin pulled his hands away, turning to look out the window of the clock tower. He stood, moving to the window _without his cane_ , and placed a hand on the glass. Glynda moved softly around the desk, looking at the headmaster in profile. His eyes were darting around the campus, a confused frown on his face. He turned, looking at Glynda, and his face said he didn't recognize her, and Glynda silently hit send on her scroll.

Then he blinked, shook his head and rubbed it again. "Forgive me," he said, looking back at her and seeming much more himself. "I'm a little out of sorts today. This hasn't happened in quite a while."

"... and what is that?" Glynda asked slowly.

Ozpin offered a soft smile, an embarrassed look down. "Sometimes," he said, "if I'm especially tired, I have a little trouble remembering - well, remembering which me is me."

* * *

"And what the hell does that mean?" Qrow demanded, hands in his pockets and slouched forward like always.

"It means," Ozpin explained, "that sometimes I don't recognize the century I'm in."

Qrow chewed on that sentence for all of two beats before he reached for his flask. He _definitely_ wasn't drunk enough for more of this convoluted magic nonsense.

Ozpin frowned in disapproval but said nothing like he always did, rubbing at his temple. "It happened a lot more in the beginning," he said, "before I truly understood how it was that I kept coming back. I… don't know what is making it happen now."

"Now?" Qrow asked, throwing a glance at Glynda. No wonder she texted. "You mean you still don't know when you are?"

"Not exactly," his boss replied. There was a tightness in his eyes, proof of his headache. "I know where and when - and who - I am, but then I just have moments where I feel…" his voice trailed off, and Qrow saw was Glynda saw, his eyes disappearing to somewhere - some _when_ else - and a long drawn out silence as he lived whatever was on the other side of his sight. He looked at Glynda, and she shook her head, not knowing what to do.

Qrow took another gulp from his flask. "Hey, Oz," he said, "Eyes over here."

Oz's eyes snapped to Qrow's voice, and for a second his eyes looked gold, wide and confused, before he blinked and frowned, rubbing his head again. "Yes, sorry," he said. "For a moment I thought… but you never stopped and I don't understand…" He shook his head. "Usually I know what I'm reliving," he said, "but these memories... they're disjointed in a way I am unfamiliar with."

"And here I thought you knew everything," Qrow said sarcastically.

Ozpin looked away, eyes pained. "I don't know everything," he admitted softly. "And that always hurts the people I care for. You and Oscar most of all."

"Who?"

"Regardless," Ozpin said, apparently not hearing the question. "Momentary dissociation notwithstanding, we still have larger issues at hand, and we've all survived the occasional headache."

Qrow made a face. He was doing that thing again, the thing where he was saying or doing something revolutionary or magical or both and trivializing it to normalcy like it was no big deal when _all of Remnant_ risked destruction if the headmaster had an off day. Salem wouldn't let a slip like this pass. He threw a glance at Glynda and she nodded, not liking old Wizard's condition any more than Qrow, and they silently agreed to stay on guard for the next few days. Knowing Glynda, Jimmy would be brought in, too. Bastard.

The three of them moved to the elevator, set to go down to the faculty meeting, Qrow figuring out what his excuse would be to skip out of it if he was also keeping an eye on Oz. He figured going full crow might be a good idea when he heard a soft moan and a dull thud. Glynda and Qrow turned to see Ozpin had leaned back to the wall of the elevator, hand not on his temples but on his side.

"... James…" he muttered, "... what have you done…?"

Qrow reached out, put a hand on the professor, leaned into his personal space. "Oz," he said, hoping his voice was firm and soft at the same time. "Oz, do you know where you are?"

Oz looked up, his eyes were definitely gold now, and they were wide and curiously young, disarming on someone with white hair. "He shot me," he said, voice soft. "Qrow… why did the general…?"

"Oz, what are you even _talking_ about?" Qrow demanded.

"We need to call a hospital," Glynda said, pulling out her scroll.

"And what do we tell them?" Qrow demanded, sobriety hitting him like a brick. "That we got a guy living an old incarnation?"

The elevator dinged, and when the doors opened they weren't on the main floor of the campus (thank the Brothers for that) but rather at the Maiden's Chamber, Amber in stasis at the end of the hall, Ironwood's machines keeping her alive. Ozpin stepped forward, taking several steps down the hall, leaning on his cane before he swayed and just… fell forward.

"Oz!"

Qrow darted forward to where the headmaster had face planted, Glynda on the scroll and dialing somebody. Qrow crouched down, grabbing at a shoulder to roll Ozpin to his back and see what the hell happened only…

Only…

Only, underneath him, from out of nowhere, there was a boy with freckles underneath the headmaster, no more than fourteen, unconscious. Ozpin, also down for the count, curled around the boy, and both of them had an iron grip on the cane. The Long Memory.

"What the actual hell?" Qrow demanded, disbelieving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why in god's green earth are we writing this? Time travel is one of our least favorite tropes in writing let alone fanfiction - too complicated, brings up too many questions, does too many things. Even when they do it right (looking at you Avengers Endgame) the time travel is the weakest part of the story. Grrr.
> 
> But for some reason there's a rush of Oscar time travel fics and in a haitus that leaves you starved to find out if Oscar is okay you will read literally anything and even if it leaves you going - guahh! They're doing it wrong! That sentence is laughable because - again - we hate time travel. But that frustrated feeling left me thinking... could we DO a time travel fic and make it something we like?
> 
> And then this cold open wandered into my head and here we are, with a fic we didn't want to write but felt compelled to. Bear witness as we spend eighty pages making Oz and Oscar talk to each other. Again.


	2. Chapter 2

His soul had been ripped apart.

This was not a metaphorical sentence; an evocative image to give the impression of a feeling. It was a literal feeling, one Ozpin had felt before and many times over. Before he had learned how to reincarnate properly, this was the sensation he would experience upon waking with his new partner: his soul, upon his death, and been viscerally ripped away from his body and shoved into a new one, leaving jagged edges and torn bits that would carefully be sewn to to his new identity. Ozpin could feel the tattered edges, the deep ache, the sense that something was missing.

That he was empty - _that_ was distinctly new.

Where was the new soul? Who was the new partner that he had been pulled to after his death?

… he _had_ died, right?

_To you, it's General_.

He had been shot - white uniform, low voice, dead eyes. Surely not James…? The memory was blurry, disjointed. Something was off, and the more he turned his mind to it the more his head hurt.

That's right, he had been suffering a headache, dissociating to old memories and losing his place in the world. Only… he did not recognize the memories; and James - if it was truly James he was picturing - would never fall so far as to shoot a chil… A child?

That made him open his eyes, the soul-deep ache of his headache spidering across his temples briefly, and saw a mop of dark brown hair. Qrow was there, he could dimly make out his distinct voice under the thrum of his heartbeat and headache, but it was all very far away as his eyes continued to focus on the head of hair, the small body attached to it, the green leathers, the _boy_ in his arms. Suddenly, a name.

"... Oscar…"

But his body - no, his very _soul_ \- pulsed at his utterance, yawning out to a flare of pain that he could only dimly associate to the times he had been captured by Salem, his entire body jolted, and he had to turn his head quickly and empty everything inside him onto the cool floor in wet, ugly coughs. He was overtaken with dizziness, the raw edges of his soul burning with the injury and manifesting with the crushing force on his head. He curled around his partner, hoping to spare him from whatever Salem had done to them, glad he was unconscious for this. Better that Ozpin suffered this than Oscar.

Even _thinking_ the name brought all the pain up again, and he winced against the pulse, curling out of his rigid posture from being sick. Osc-the boy needed him, and he had to be there for him, cursed or not.

His partner hummed against his chest, and Ozpin held him close, a father to a son to protect him from the world.

A hand was shaking his shoulder, and blearily he turned his head, seeing Qrow, wine-colored eyes wide and saying... something.

Ozpin lifted a shaking arm, and Qrow took his hand, leaning over and filling his vision.

"... don't worry, Oz, we got you. Glynda's calling James. Tell us what happened."

How could he explain it? How could he explain that his soul had been ripped apart during an incarnation - how did Qrow even recognize him in a new body? But no, he hadn't died, Osc-his partner was _in his arms_ , manifestly present while Ozpin was _still alive_ and Oscar had - the rips throbbed again, and Ozpin's vision whited out completely, and he collapsed.

* * *

Oscar _ached_. A bone-deep, pernicious throb that pulsed through his entire body, heating up and then receding. He didn't want to _move_ , but he had to. He had to save Atlas before Oz took ov-

The pain swelled and rode through his entire frame, shuddering through him and making him moan against his will as he tried to ride it out. He curled around himself, trying to find a position that was the least painful, but something warm and strong was at his back, heavy and secure and Oscar… he leaned into it, savoring the feeling of safety. But he wasn't safe. Ironwood had tried to kill him, he had fallen and then the cane and then unlocking the magic and wanting _so bad_ to just _do it all over again_.

The Long Memory was in his fist, and he hated the comfort it brought him, but he pulled it close, wanting familiar things around him as his aches and pains continued to throb. It wasn't his chest, where Ironwood had shot him, it wasn't his aura, overtaxed and broken, it was even deeper than that - and aura was the manifestation of the soul, he wasn't sure how much deeper pain could go. Something inside him was torn, it felt ripped and raw, pulsing not with his heartbeat but with something else.

Atlas.

Atlas was in trouble. He had to get moving. Where even was he? Where had he landed? Did someone find him?

Grunting, he managed to get his weight under him and lift himself up into a vague sitting position. The weight around him fell away, and he dimly realized he could smell sickness. Rubbing his eyes and face he looked up. A woman - blond, curls, glasses - was kneeling next to him, scroll at her ear, and then he heard Qrow.

"Come on Oz, stay with me. What the hell happened?"

Oscar was confused, Qrow never called him Oz unless - his body pulsed again, his vision blurring and he nearly fell back. The woman grabbed his shoulder, saying, "Stay still, I've got you," But in his swoon Oscar had turned, and he saw Qrow - not talking to him, but bent over a tall man in a dark suit, collapsed on the floor. He was in his old button up that he'd been wearing when they first met, not the new vest he'd taken to wearing against the cold and… wait…

"Come on, Oz, wake up!"

Oz…?

Everything spiked all at once, his vision blurring and his nonexistent strength disappearing all over again, but he forced his eyes to stay open, taking in the silver-white hair, the tinted glasses skittered on the floor nearby, the green turtleneck.

"What…?" he asked, word a little slurred. He leaned forward, _fell_ forward, really, and reached a shaking hand out to touch the unconscious man in front of him. "What are you doing outside of my head?"

One brown eye slit open, turning slightly to Oscar. The voice in Oscar's head reached up, and Oscar took the offered hand, the other being held by Qrow who was staring at them. Neither of them had the strength to talk, but their eyes locked: brown and hazel, and both sets welled, shiny with everything that lay between them. The deep sensation of ripping, Oscar realized it had to do with the headmaster. Did he feel it, too? Did he know what was going on? Did he know why…?

"Don't worry…" the headmaster said, barely able to get the words out. "... you're safe here…"

"But Oz…"

The pain shot through Oscar, and he saw Ozpin flinch at the same time, and both of them were lost to it.

* * *

"James is on his way," Glynda said, hanging up.

"And a fat lot of good that's gonna do him," Qrow grunted, looking over to the deputy headmistress. "This is more convoluted magical rules crap and nobody has time for it. What the hell is even going on? Who's the kid? Why'd he say Oz was inside his head? What even-"

"We won't know anything until Ozpin is awake," Glynda said, cutting through Qrow's incredulity. "For now we need to get them secure. Lying on the cold floor smeared in sickness won't do anyone any favors." She gestured with her riding crop and Oz and the boy slowly lifted off the ground. Qrow shucked Oz carefully over his shoulder in a fireman carry, Glynda picking up the boy. They moved back to the elevator, Qrow turning and looking at the spot where Oz had fallen and somehow… _spawned_ some kind of brat. Beyond was Amber, the Fall Maiden, still clinging to life. Qrow made a face.

Oz's apartment was in the clocktower as well as his office, one of the most secure buildings in Vale, and he and Glynda moved into his small collection of spartan rooms. Qrow stretched Oz out on one side of the bed, Glynda lying the pipsqueak on the other side. Oz shifted, hand reaching out and touching the boy's, still holding the cane with a vice-like grip. The boy hummed, a soft moan of pain, and turned slightly to Oz.

Qrow and Glynda looked to each other over their prone forms, both of them concerned before Glynda's scroll rang.

" _What happened?_ " Ironwood's voice demanded.

"We don't know," Glynda said, her rich alto betraying the strain they were both under. "Ozpin woke up with a headache. We went down to the Vault to check on the Fall Maiden and he collapsed, and underneath him was a boy."

" _Where are they now?_ " Ironwood demanded.

"We're in Oz's apartment," Qrow said. "Both of them out down for the count."

" _Both of them? In the apartment?_ " Ironwood's incredulity was palpable through the scroll, and Qrow made a face.

"You got a better place to put them?" he demanded as Glynda rolled her eyes. He grabbed his flask, _gods_ he needed a drink.

" _No, Ozpin should be somewhere comfortable,_ " Ironwood said. " _But we don't know anything about the boy. He could be one of Salem's agents, or a plant, or something else entirely. There have been enough attacks to warrant a modicum of caution-_ "

"Oh, shut up, Jimmy," Qrow growled into Glynda's phone, snatching it out of her hand. "Your answer to everything is a raised fist before we even know what's going on."

" _And look where that caution has brought us_ ," the general said, " _an arms race with a criminal element linked to the Faunus and probably connected to_ her _. That boy should be under lock and key until we know exactly what's going on._ "

"James," Glynda said, stealing her scroll back, "You are talking about a _child_ , who is by all measures in just as much pain as Ozpin is. They're connected somehow, and it would be _foolish_ to lock him up if we find out later that he's one of Ozpin's hidden cards. It's easier to limit the information around him and watch him than lock him up and be sorry about it later."

" _Oz isn't even awake to tell us-_ "

"Which is why we should act in his stead," Glynda said, voice dropping several degrees. "And you know better than anyone he's a glass half-full type."

A deep sigh.

" _It's on you if anything's gone wrong. I'll talk to my team, tighten up security around the colosseum._ "

Like it could be tightened any more. Qrow took a draw from his flask.

It was three hours later that they started to stir. Glynda had to deal with the faculty meeting and had left to make sure the Vytal Festival went smoothly - and probably to pull Ironwood's ear, if she knew what was good for her. Qrow hovered around the apartment in the meantime, guard dog in case the world decided to blow up before the festival started. He watched the vendors truck in and reserve their spaces, the colosseum floating in for all the work, and when he turned he saw Ozpin had yet again surrounded the boy in his sleep, and the boy had turned and curled into the headmaster.

Damn Ironwood for thinking this little kid was a danger to anyone.

Oz's eyes slowly opened, and he took a deep breath through his nose. His brow was furrowed still, his headache hadn't gone away. Qrow waited, stayed still and watched as Oz slowly woke up: blinking first, before his focus started to narrow as he recognized his surroundings. When the memory hit, Ozpin's eyes snapped to the boy, pulling into a sit up and then bending over the kid, a hand reaching out and running gently through the dark mop of hair.

He looked exactly like Tai did when the girls were young, a father checking on their sick kid, and Qrow felt a thump in his chest that had nothing to do with his worry. He shook his head.

"Who's the pipsqueak?" Qrow asked, crossing his arms and letting himself be known.

Ozpin looked up, gaze partly hidden with his sweep of white hair; his lips pursed, and Qrow knew that face: the one where Oz knew something but wanted to keep it to his chest.

Imagine his surprise then, when the headmaster closed his eyes and shook his head. "I confess I don't know how to explain it," he admitted. "Oscar here," a hand shot to his temples, Oz swaying before containing the reaction. "... He is an incarnation," he said after several beats.

Qrow took a swig from his flask. Damn thing was near empty. "Gonna have to explain that one, Oz," he said, voice low and soft. "Jimmy wants to lock the kid up til he knows what's going on."

"He will do no such thing," Oz said, and there was a darkness in his voice that Qrow _very_ rarely heard, the tip of the iceberg of experience Oz had been through and an ethereal weight of untold understanding of the world. "I don't know how to explain it," he said after a shorter pause. "I don't know how to express the sensation of having your soul ripped from one body and placed in another, but that experience… he has been pulled from me, there is no question."

Qrow shrugged. "Fine," he said, deciding to roll with it. "What do we do with him? And which one is he? This Oscar kid?"

Oz winced at the name like it was a closed fist, hand finally leaving Oscar's mop of hair and rubbing his temples. "Keep him safe," he replied softly, dragging one of his hands through his hair, the white strands feathering out before falling back into place. "At least until he's recovered enough that the pain is bearable."

"The pain?"

Oz nodded, turning slightly to plant his feet on the floor. "Until the tears are less raw," he said. "When the proverbial bleeding has been cauterized. When thinking about Os-" Ozpin cut off his sentence, rubbing his temples again. "... when the pain is bearable."

Mystic mumbo jumbo.

Qrow was going to have to find a liquor cabinet somewhere and raid it. He mentally cursed Oz for not having one; he was way too sober for this. He uncrossed his arms and leaned against the wall of the bedroom, near the door. "Still didn't say which one he is."

"I… don't know," the headmaster replied, standing and holding himself for several minutes before straightening his vest and coat, tugging at his sleeves. He reached for the cane and paused, eyes tracing over the unconscious boy. Softness fell over his face, and he left the Long Memory in the boy's grip. "I'm sure he'll tell us when he wakes. Until then, we'll make him comfortable." He moved around to the other side of the bed, closer to the brat, and skillfully worked off the boots and belts of the green leathers, tugging at the sheets of the bed and lifting them up over the boy. Oz reached down and hesitated for a moment, before running his fingers through Oscar's hair.

Straightening, he moved to adjust his glasses to realize they weren't there. Sighing, he moved to the nightstand to grab them. He looked better with the glasses on, but the tightness around his eyes was still there. If the pipsqueak was hurting, Qrow figured Oz _definitely_ was, but he was ignoring it in favor of…

"What are you going to do?"

"In terms of the immediate, I'm going to the kitchen. He has no aura to speak off and was…" Oz trailed off, his eyes losing focus. "He went through… _something_ … and he deserves a warm meal after everything that's happened."

And what had happened? Oz had a headache and just… _spawned_ the kid; what did the kid go through? Qrow shook his head. "You need help with cooking?" he asked. "I don't ever remember you slaving over a fire."

Ozpin smiled, the soft one he saved for victories and small moments. "There's been a recent invention, if you may recall: it's called a recipe."

* * *

Oscar was a jumbled mess: he had tried to confront Ironwood and failed. He'd been shot, was falling, heard Oz-pain pulsed through his body and he moaned against it - tried to shift his weight so that he was comfortable, but the ache was deeper than his very bones, and he didn't understand _why_ … he'd grabbed the cane, unlocked the magic, made his wish: do over, he wanted a _do over_. But then he was on a cool floor, and pain was everywhere, and somehow the voice in his head was outside his head and Qrow was maybe there and a blonde but who… where…?

Oscar opened his eyes, gaze taking in the Long Memory, tight in his fist. He retracted the length and held it to his chest, hating himself as he did. He hated that it brought him comfort, he hated that it belonged to-

"You fully awake now, kid?"

Oscar blinked, hearing the distinct slur around Qrow's vowels, and he sighed in disappointment. "I thought you'd said you'd stopped drinking," he said, pushing himself up with shaky arms. He rubbed his eyes, trying to find a sitting position that didn't hurt. He looked over, and Qrow was there, leaning against a wall by the door, taking a gulp from his flask.

"Not in this life, kid," Qrow said after a final gulp.

Oscar frowned, taking in his surroundings. A full bed, not academy quarters, sheets and blankets, a dark red cherry bureau and a free-standing, full length mirror, subtly but ornately decorated. "Where are we?" he asked slowly. "Where are the others?"

"Others?"

Oscar blinked again, his body felt so _heavy_ , and he turned slightly to better face Qrow. Qrow looked tipsy but not outright drunk - not like at the farm in the snow, not like Argus. Oscar hid a wince at those memories, choosing instead to focus on the grey streaks in Qrow's hair, the usual scruff at his chin, the old button up he used to wear. It was like watching an old version of Qrow, and Oscar had a little trouble tracking what had happened. "How much have you had this time?"

Qrow snorted. "Not enough, apparently," he replied, lifting his flask again.

Oscar sighed. "Ruby will be so disappointed when she finds out."

That made Qrow straighten, push off against the wall as his eyes immediately hardened. He stepped forward, and his hand moved to the Harbinger, compacted at his back. Oscar stared, disbelieving, as Qrow growled. "Just how do you know about Ruby, kid?" he demanded, voice low and dangerous, the voice he saved for confronting his sister at Haven, the voice he took after learning the truth from Jinn: dark, powerful, unfeeling.

Oscar leaned back, hands up, eyes wide. "Qrow, what are you doing?" he asked.

"What I'm doing is glaring at a kid who dropped out of nowhere - "

"I didn't drop out of nowhere, I fell from the Maiden Chamber - "

"- and is dropping names he shouldn't know - "

" - after James shot me because he gave into his fear - "

" - now is making up _fairy tales_ \- "

" - _please_ you have to believe me I don't understand what - "

" - and I'm thinking you might be a problem - "

" _Qrow_. Stop."

Oscar froze, his entire frame jolted with energy and running raw pain through his nervous system and taking his breath away. No way. _No way_ , that had been a dream, a hallucination after he unlocked the magic…!

But he turned his gaze to the doorway, and a tall, _tall_ man was where, silver-white hair, one hand rubbing his temples and a mug of something - no, a mug of hot chocolate - in his other. Small, ornate glasses, and the rich tenor that had always echoed _inside his head_ , not come out of a _living breathing person_ …! What was Oz-

The strength in his body gave way and he flopped to his side with a gasp, the ache vibrating through his body, just as O - just as the old headmaster swayed on his feet and quickly slammed his mug on the bureau to add a second hand to his head. Qrow moved immediately - not to Oscar but to _him_ , a hand reaching out to a shoulder, "Oz, you okay?" and _oh_ that hurt even worse, like a rip had been tugged at and Oscar's vision nearly greyed out to hear the name. Why was the _name_ causing so much pain? He moaned, curling around the unfathomable ache, trying to make it stop.

They were talking, Oscar could understand that, but he was too consumed with the pain to understand what was being said, constantly shifting to try and get away from the hurt - _Brothers_ , why did it hurt _so much_? What did that stupid headmaster _do_ to him? _This time?_

Finally, the flare subsided, and Oscar let out a breath he'd been holding, desperate for air as his body finally managed to relax. Blearily, he looked over to see Qrow, not leaning against the door but sitting in a chair. Harbinger was leaning against the wall, away from immediate reach, but he glared as Oscar with such distant eyes; his eyes had _never_ been distant. Even when they first met, before O-the headmaster made himself known, Qrow had tipsily looked at Oscar with intense focus, suspicion, but not _distance_. Something in Oscar's heart hurt, on top of everything else, and he _hated that old wizard_ for whatever had caused this.

"Qrow…" he asked, voice barely a whisper, afraid of what would happen. "Where are we really?"

"Headmaster's apartments," Qrow replied. "Beacon Academy."

Beacon…? _Beacon…?_

Hazel eyes widened, and his breath caught in his throat. "But… Beacon fell…"

Qrow straightened again, not cold this time but alert. "What?"

"That's why he was in my head, because Beacon fell and he…"

"Kid, you got some jumbled bull in that brain of yours," Qrow said, leaning on his elbows. "No academy has fallen since they were instated eighty years ago."

But it was more than…

Air was starting to become a struggle, even breathing it he was having a hard time getting it, and adrenaline was flooding through his system which only aggravated the beyond-bone deep ache in his limbs. He never felt so small before, even fighting Hazel, but at the same time everything else was small too tight too constricting air need to breath Beacon didn't fall but that meant that meant _that meant - what did that damn wizard do how did he get here what even-_

"Hey, breath, _breath_ kid or he'll have my head!"

"This isn't right, _this isn't right_ ," Oscar said, backing up in the bed. "How did I get _here_ \- what did that stupid old wizard to do _send me back here_? I didn't ask for _any of this! It's not fair!_ I didn't want _any of this!_ Not a voice in my head, not magic, not destiny, not being shot by James, not being _sent back like this_ it's not fair make it stop turn it off _I want to go home!_ "

He was losing track of the words pouring out of him, too much was going on in his body, adrenaline was drowning out the heavy pain under his bones, panic flooding his synapses and preventing him from really understanding… he was _somehow in the past_ , the old man had sent him _to the freaking past what was he supposed to do how was he supposed to fix Atlas what more could be done to him_ but hands were on his shoulders and then spread to arms and someone was hugging him. Oscar jerked back, blind fear that it was James or Salem or even Qrow because Qrow had punched him and Jaune had shook him against a wall and Yang had cursed at him and nobody saw him except for Ruby and he was trying he _promised_ he was trying but it wasn't enough James still lost and he had falling and what was even the point and…

The storm eventually rode itself out, and Oscar could finally breath. His face was hot and wet, and there wasn't any energy left in him. He was sandwiched in a pair of strong arms, and he was being rocked back and forth; he couldn't remember the last time he had been rocked, and he _craved_ it, leaned into it and just _breathed_ , feeling safe for the first time in months, over a year. He sighed into the embrace, and the hug squeezed, one hand rubbing up and down his back. He could faintly smell sugar and vanilla, ink and oil. Not Qrow, someone else.

Oscar opened his eyes, saw dark slacks, and Qrow back in his chair, arms crossed and staring. The sun was lower in the sky, the shadows were different, and Oscar was slowly laid down, the strong arms gentle in all things.

The headmaster gazed down at him, eyes dark and full of emotion. He was the _last_ person Oscar wanted to see, and he groaned, rolling away from him, the ripped ache throbbing deep inside him. "I don't want to talk to you," he said, debating on if he could get up or not. "Just send me back..." With effort he was able to pull back into a sitting position and swung his bare feet over the edge of the bed. Where were his boots…?

"Rest, first," the old wizard said. "The tear is too raw for either of us to do much of anything right now."

Oscar shook his head. "Speak for yourself," he said, finding the boots and dipping his toes. "I'm just fine."

"No, you're not."

Oscar growled. "And whose fault is that?" he said, turning his hazel glare to the stupid old man. "Who decided to start living in my head and making my life so… so…" The ache flared, not so strong as when he thought about the headmaster directly, but his entire body curved and rolled around the flare as he thought about everything that had happened to him since the wizard's arrival. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw O-the headmaster frown, pinching his forehead. Good. Guy deserved it. Oscar shook his head, tying off his shoes and standing. His entire body swayed, he could feel the professor staring at his back. Oscar didn't even look at him, just gripped the cane in his hand and moved out of the bedroom.

Everything hurt. "Tear" was too mild a word, and Oscar was starting to realize how important the word was, but he was also grateful for it as well. If the wizard said "tear" it likely had to do with the merger. If it had to do with the merger then, for now, they were well and truly separate, and that comforted Oscar in a way he desperately needed. Once his soul healed he could figure out where he was, (... _when_ he was and _brothers_ he didn't know if he could process that yet…), find Ruby and the others and figure out… _any way_ to stop this from ever happening.

Beyond the bedroom was a small living area, attached kitchen, and a blond in a pencil skirt flipping through her scroll. She stood and locked green eyes with her. "Oscar, right?" she said. "How are you?"

"Not right now Glynda," Oscar sa-his eyes widened. How did he know her…? His body pulsed, somehow inside and under his heart, and he wobbled, stumbling to stay upright. The woman moved to catch him but caught herself, and Oscar was suddenly leaning against the arm of a sofa. This was… this was rubbing along the tear. Why? Because he was recognizing someone from O… "That's not fair," he moaned, fumbling to sit down. "That's not fair… None of this is fair…"

The blonde, Glynda, reached out and touched his shoulder, but Oscar shied away. This was too much. This was too _much_ ; how much more was supposed to happen to him? When would he have time to _process_ all of this. Why…?

* * *

"Kid had some choice words for you," Qrow observed, sipping from his flask.

Ozpin rubbed his temples, feeling the spidering pulse of the tear flaring. "I always do, when I reincarnate."

"Is it always like this?"

Ozpin didn't answer, let the silence speak for itself. He stood, the rapid change in elevation making his vision telescope but he pushed passed it, moving around the bed as his sight returned and stepped out. He saw Osc-the boy on the couch, hunched forward and holding his head. Glynda was there, and her eyes snapped to Ozpin, gaze full of questions. He gestured, and she got up, leaving his incarnation and moving to join him and Qrow in the bedroom.

Ozpin pursed his lips, wanting the Long Memory in his hand but unwilling to deny his incarnation any form of comfort, however hollow. Qrow was starting to sway, he'd refilled his flask three times over the course of the afternoon, but his face was grim as Glynda silently stood next to him. They looked to him, for direction and explanation, and Ozpin had no idea what to tell them. He didn't want to explain _any_ of it, he still didn't _understand_ it, but admitting that was admitting that he wasn't all knowing - and he knew for a cold fact that Qrow's mental stability hinged on thinking Ozpin had all the answers, and he _didn't_ , he never did and-

Stop that. Self-loathing wasn't going to fix this. Oscar wouldn't-pain pulsed through his head and he rubbed his temples again. Something, a memory that wasn't completely his, was echoing through his mind, and he had the sensation of thinking Qrow already knew the truth and was still trying. Why…?

The boy, perhaps. Ozpin decided to trust his incarnation. He told the truth.

"If either of you are expecting me to have answers," he said, looking down, "I don't. I can no more explain why he's here than why the Faunus are here this time around."

"... this time around?"

Ozpin pushed on before he lost his nerve. "I can confirm that he is an incarnation; I can feel the… the tear." He gestured vaguely, unable to find the right words. "And yes, Qrow, reincarnation is very difficult for all parties involved. That includes resentment, blame, the entire gamut. I don't like talking about it, the emotional fallout is sometimes enormous."

Qrow snorted, crossing his arms.

Glynda asked, "Which incarnation is he?"

Ozpin took a slow breath, fighting with himself to admit what he'd been able to determine. "Based on what he has managed to say, and how he seems to know Qrow… there is a high probability he is my _next_ incarnation."

He saw their eyes widen - Glynda lost color in her face and Qrow's grip on his flask tightened as he bit out a dark curse. Ozpin regretted telling them immediately, and he found his gaze looking down, unable to bear-

"How long do you have?" Glynda asked.

Ozpin looked up, found a steely green gaze, her arms crossed as she shifted her weight. Something, deep inside him, warmed, even as he quailed that he did not deserve that level of faith in him. He pursed his lips, fighting through the permanent headache. "I am uncertain," he admitted. "Given the recent increase in criminal and Faunus activity in conjunction with the Vytal Festival, it could well be very soon."

"Then we may not have enough time to wait for the next Fall Maiden to choose if she's ready," Qrow said, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he slouched forward. "We should hook her up to the machine now before things blow up in our faces."

Hurt that had nothing to do with his incarnation bled from his heart, and he shifted his eyes to Qrow. "You don't know what you're asking," he said softly. "Tearing Amber's aura and stitching it to someone. Look at what's happening with me and Oscar-" his head _groaned_ under the pulse of pain, his eyes automatically watering and forcing both hands up to his temples to try and stave off the pain. It took him several seconds to see straight and remember his train of thought. He wiped his cheeks and ran a hand through his hair. "Nobody would choose this, and we're asking her to choose this. I won't force this on her; you have to understand. She has to _choose_."

"Hey," Qrow said, "Salem isn't going to give you a choice, Oz. Sometimes you have to take a hit to win a fight. You're the one that taught me that."

"Take a hit, yes," Ozpin conceded. "Sacrifice a principle… no. Sacrifices are inevitable, I'm the last person to deny that, but some things have to matter more. We must still stay… human."

A half remembered image, a big man in an Atlas uniform, firing a gun… pain spidered through his temples, not as sharp as thinking the boy's name but still a sign of aggravation from the tear. His incarnation's memory, then. _Some things matter more, I think. It's what keeps us human._ Ozpin took a deep breath through his nose, centering himself.

"Have James tighten security to the tower," he said finally. "If anything should happen, the boy should be kept safe. So should Amber and the Vault."

"And Amity Colosseum?"

"Yes, that, too."

"Ozpin, that's a lot for festival security," Glynda said, pulling out a tablet. "Plus the fairgrounds, opening ceremonies, dignitary quarters, the academy itself…"

"Don't tell me it was a _good_ thing Jimmy brought an army," Qrow muttered, dissatisfied.

Ozpin risked shaking his head, feeling soft pulses of pain. "We have to ask James regardless. I've been removed from Festival Security."

"Wait, _what_?" Qrow demanded, straightening. "You're headmaster of Beacon!"

"Who allowed a Grimm infestation right in the middle of Vale because of the train tracks under Mountain Glenn," Ozpin replied. "James informed me last week."

"No," Qrow corrected, " _Jimmy_ wanted to rub your face in it. _Bastard_ ," he cursed. "Stuck up prick thinks he knows everything."

Ozpin didn't comment on the Council threatening his very position of headmaster. Instead he said, "It will make James feel like he's doing something, and it will give the Vault an extra layer of security, and time for Os-time for the boy to rest."

Glynda narrowed her eyes. "We should be asking him what he knows," she said. "Try and prevent things from happening."

Ozpin shook his head. "Eventually, perhaps, but right now he's a boy who has woken up to realize he is some time in the past, removed from whatever pressing adventure he was in the middle of, on top of having me ripped out of him. All of that is a shock, physically and emotionally, and it would be imprudent to press him now. It's late enough in the day that all of us should be getting some rest."

The pair nodded, and Glynda turned while looking at her tablet, inputting comments and linking data to her scroll.

"Qrow," Ozpin said softly, "A word."

His most steadfast supporter paused, turning. His eyes were glossy, and the act of turning made him sway slightly. "Yeah?" he asked.

… maybe he should wait until Qrow was sober. Maybe he should wait until the timing was better. Maybe he should wait until… _meeting you was the worst luck of my life_.

Ozpin took an audible breath, holding it as his headache spiked and he _ached_ for the Long Memory in the other room. He reached out, took Qrow's wrist and tried to find the right words. "Qrow… Qrow, I…" The dusty old crow stared, wine-colored eyes wide and his entire frame bracing for something. Ozpin pursed his lips, trusted his impressions from his next incarnation, trusted _Qrow_ , trusted himself to say what he needed to. He took another breath. "Qrow," he said, "You need to know that meeting you was the best luck of my life. You've done more for humanity, more for _me_ , than anyone could reasonably expect; and you did it without asking for anything, without complaint, without reservation."

"Oz…" Qrow started to say, shrinking away.

"No," Ozpin countered, "This needs to be said. There is no one in Vale, no one in Remnant that I trust more. You believe in me when I don't deserve it."

" _Oz,_ " Qrow said, and he looked truly afraid now. "Oz it's going to be fine. Nothing's gonna happen. We'll figure it out…"

Ozpin shook his head. " _Qrow_ ," he said, quietly but insistently. "I want you to take the Long Memory, if the worst happens. Keep it with you, and when I come and find you, when _Oscar_ comes and-" He hissed as headache flared, the tear pulsing along his soul squeezing his eyes closed. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead into Qrow's shoulder as the pain throbbed along his skull, under his brain. "Find me," he whispered. "I don't trust anyone else to."

A pregnant pause drew out, Ozpin's head on fire, but he heard a watery, "... yeah. Yeah… I'll find you Oz… I'll find…"

Ozpin looked up, saw all the emotion on Qrow's face. "You deserve so much better than me," he confessed.

"Oz…" He gulped, apple bobbing up and down on his neck. "It'll be fine Oz. James is upping security, we got a fortune teller in the other room… everything'll be fine. Just you wait. I won't need to hold on to…" his voice disappeared, and he was blinking rapidly.

Ozpin allowed himself one small, tiny, moment of indulgence, and he hugged his most trusted advisor, giving him the warmth he always seemed to give Ozpin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oz, begging an emotionally co-dependent Qrow to find you after your impending death might not be good for his psyche... Like, yeah. You're putting your house in order but...
> 
> Having said that, though, don't expect a whole lot of Qrow or Glynda or Ironwood. They are very firmly Supporting Characters because we're all here for Oz and Oscar - neither of whom are quite conscious enough to talk to each other yet as the twins try and figure out what the hell the rules are for having two partially merged souls utterly ripped apart.
> 
> Next chapter: Oscar finally starts to process where he is. Oz starts to realize what's coming.
> 
> PS: guys, we're watching Vol8 on crunchroll so we're on a week's delay. No spoilers please.


	3. Chapter 3

In the kitchen, Oscar had found a heavy soup and thick bread, still steaming, and a plate of cookies. Given that he was stringently _not thinking_ about where ( _when_ ) he was and what was going on, and given he had last eaten at dinner before spending a long night running around Atlas's Academy before fighting (more like running from) an umbrella wielding madwoman and then… _things_ he couldn't think about yet…. He was hungry.

Very hungry.

It was delicious. A tang that wasn't too sharp, seasons of home, and slices of bread so thick it was like a sponge soaking up the soup. Despite trying desperately to _not_ think about where ( _WHEN_ ) he was, he couldn't help but remember his aunt. This was like something she'd make in the dead of winter, when temperatures were well below freezing, the snow was piled high, and it was better to sleep downstairs near the heater when the wind came howling over the fields.

Unbidden, tears came to his eyes. His throat closed, even as he tried to choke down another bite. It tasted so much like _home_. Not quite the same as his aunt's, but so close.

He avoided the cookies entirely.

Oscar was finishing a glass of milk, the Long Memory rolling in his free hand, when the blonde came in.

"Oh," she said softly, reaching up to push up her glasses. "I didn't realize you were in here."

Oscar set down his glass with a sigh. "It's alright, Glynda," he said tiredly. Then he shuddered as that damn _ache_ echoed from his spine down through his limbs and he grunted involuntarily.

Her eyes narrowed. "The headmaster said that… you two were torn apart. That it would be best to avoid thinking about him or your connection until the tear is less raw."

"I already figured that out," Oscar groaned. "Kinda hard not to, given that that old wizard is why I'm here."

"Magic doesn't work like that," the blonde said. "He is quite insistent. Time is like a waterfall, it falls. It can't go back. If it could, either he or Salem would have been traveling back to alter how things were."

Oscar snorted. "Yet here I am." He didn't want to talk about this. He didn't want to _think_ about this. Was he himself? Was he his younger self? Did he just disappear from his aunt? Or was he still there while being here? The tear _throbbed_ , and he grunted, clutching at his side. He rubbed at the tear-streaks on his face. "I didn't _ask_ for any of this."

Green eyes gauged him. "You never do. He never does. I met someone who knew the headmaster before he inherited. From what I understand, he felt much as you do about the inheritance."

"I doubt that."

"You need rest."

"No," Oscar growled, "I need to-" he stood and _pain-not-his_ flared bright and hot, making him stagger back into the table. "Hnnnngh!" He was gasping, but still standing. Better than before. Improvement. He would take any kind of improvement he could get. The throbbing subsided and he finally was able to breathe normally and stood straight again. " _Damn you, Oz_ ," he hissed, then gasped as the tear flared up again.

The blonde…. Glynda's eyes were soft, even though her face still scowled. "Let's get you to bed."

"I'm _fine_ , I just-"

The tear throbbed again, and this had been the third flare in as many minutes, he was sweating and exhausted.

"Fine."

* * *

It was the dead of the night when he woke; the room dark except for the dull yellow glow of a lamp. The cane was still in his hand - had never _left_ \- and he held it close. He was calmer now, there wasn't much emotion left in him, and the deep ache… the _tear_ … had finally dulled, slightly. Oscar didn't dare think beyond that, unwilling to examine or experiment how much "better" the tear was. Instead he sat alone in his head, processing it all and trying to decide what he was supposed to do. If he was back in the past, then he had two options: figure out how to undo it all, or try and prevent everything from happening. Both were terrifying for different reasons, but Oscar was nothing if not experienced with terrifying. So:

Option one: try and go back. He had no idea how he even _got_ here, let alone how to go back. The wizard might know, but did Oscar really want to talk to him?

Option two: try and fix everything. If Beacon hadn't fallen then communications were still up and running. He could contact his aunt and let her know… anything. He didn't know a lot about how Beacon fell, only what was on the news and what RWBY and JNR had told him - the wizard's memories were blurry and painful even at the best of times, and the headmaster didn't like talking about it.

The old man didn't like talking about a _lot_ of things.

But… the wizard, Qrow, Glynda, they were the best people to talk to about preventing all this.

… Meaning he still had to talk to the old man. Damn it.

Oscar didn't want to. His life had changed _so much_ since the voice got stuck in his head, and just when he was starting to turn into the person he wanted to be, just when the wizard had been gone long enough that Oscar could try on his own… (make mistakes on his own… James...) just when he was starting to be proud of himself then _this_ happened and…

He cracked an eye open, seeing the headmaster sitting in Qrow's chair from earlier. His suit jacket was hanging over the back, and one green sleeve was rolled up. A cold mug of chocolate was on the nightstand, and one knee was hooked over the other. The headmaster's eyes snapped immediately to Oscar, eyes dark brown, and he pursed his lips.

"Hello," he said softly. "Though I suspect this isn't our first introduction I thought it best to perhaps start fresh." He tilted his head, offering a soft smile, warm and welcoming. Oscar didn't trust it, and the wizard's smile faded, eyes turning away.

A silence drew out, deep but not uncomfortable. The artifice was gone, the veneer of cordiality falling away to uneasy acceptance. The headmaster would have to talk to Oscar honestly, and he let the old man come to that realization. Secrets weren't going to get anyone anywhere, and now...

"How long was I with you?" he asked softly. His gentle tenor was low, sad - the real voice Oscar heard after Jinn, just before he disappeared. This was a wizard who was being real, and that Oscar could respond to.

"Just over a year," Oscar admitted.

"I see. Were you training?"

"I was fighting."

The headmaster winced, taking a hand and dragging it down his face. "I'm so sorry," he said. "I started younger than you, but I had the time to train…"

"You told me that," Oscar said, looking down at his hands. "That you had to rush with me because she was on the move."

"I can unfortunately imagine," the wizard said, sighing and sinking into the chair. "Do you know how you arrived here?"

"No," Oscar said. "I figured you did something."

"Until now I didn't even know it was possible. I'd never done it before."

… there went option one. "So you can't send me back…?"

"I don't know for sure. What's the last thing you remember?"

Oscar shuddered. "Ironwood shooting me," he muttered. He sensed more than saw the headmaster stiffen ever so slightly, but he didn't care. "I was trying to stop him, he was going to use the staff to raise Atlas above Remnant, leave Mantle and everyone else to die. He was so consumed by his fear… I thought I could talk him out of it, that he could see reason, trust in humanity… But he… Then he…"

The wizard stood and joined him on the bed, reaching out to hug - but Oscar shied away, didn't want the embrace.

"I'm sorry," the old man said instead, hovering. "I'm so, so, sorry."

"I don't…" Oscar's vision blurred, and he rubbed at his eyes. "You came back after, while I was falling. I reached for the cane… I touched the magic… and the next thing I knew I was back here."

He looked up, and the headmaster was frowning, one hand still partly raised to touch Oscar. He shifted in the bed - they were finally separate now, he didn't want to be close to the old man again. He waited, watched the frown press deeper and deeper, brown eyes flicking down to the cane. The wizard reached out, running a long piano finger along the shaft of the cane, face thoughtful. Oscar pulled it closer to himself, hating himself but not wanting to let it go. He watched the hand withdraw, looked up to see a slightly pained look on the headmaster's face.

"The Long Memory," he said, voice soft in the quiet of the night, "I've made a lot of modifications over the years. But I hardly think…" he ended with a hum, running a hand along the line of his jaw. "How would one even determine…?" He shook his head, pushing his fingers up under his tiny glasses and pinching his nose before returning to the chair and taking his mug, moving to sip and making a face as he realized it was cold. "I don't know," he said finally. "I don't know if I could send you back - or forward, I suppose - and I doubt that's the answer you want to hear."

Oscar took a deep breath, looking down at his hands. "You'll use me, then, right?" he asked. "Ask me what I know, try and stop it from happening?"

The headmaster steepled his fingers and looked at Oscar for a long, long time. Oscar didn't shy away, met his gaze with everything he'd learned since this all started, pushed his determination to the fore.

"I can see why I was drawn to you," the wizard said, shaking his head. "Your will is incredible. Were that mine half as much as yours."

Oscar blinked, straightening slightly at such an… such an _honest_ sentiment. He would never have gotten such an admission from O-from the old man before, just a dodge or a dismissal. "You seem… different," he said. "Compared to when you were in my head."

He watched the headmaster sigh all the way down, eyes closing and looking so _tired_. He leaned back in his chair, making a noncommittal hum. "I suppose I am," he admitted. "I can't admit to understanding it, but… somewhere along the tear… I have a sense of… _something_. We went through something - I don't know what, and trying to touch it pulses on the tear - but we went through something that made me…" His eyes opened, and he frowned, trying to phrase his next sentence. "Made me feel… made me confront…" A pause drew out, and Oscar was starting to feel the soul-deep pressure, the aching weight in his bones before it cut off. He looked at his hands, realizing how little pain he was in until now.

The headmaster finally shook his head. "I have a sense that obfuscation won't help matters," he said finally. "And honestly, as an incarnation you will know everything anyway, now or later makes little difference."

Oscar shook his head. "Then why did you keep so much from me?" he asked, not… _bitter_ , necessarily. Resigned. "You didn't tell me about Hazel, you didn't explain why you covered for Lionheart until we dragged it out of you, we had to ask _Jinn_ about you and Sa-"

A hand lifted, begging him to stop, and Oscar saw the wide brown eyes, the unhidden _fear_ Oscar had felt that day in the snow, when Ruby had asked her question. It was weird, seeing it on a face instead of feeling it in his head, and he watched as the headmaster was frozen in silent terror, still as a statue as he processed what Oscar was telling him. The wizard sighed again - lower, darker, more tense - and he held his head in a hand, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. Oscar… he could kind of sense that the headmaster didn't really allow himself to be so loose in his body, didn't really allow bad posture or even the hint of weakness in his frame, but here in front of Oscar he was leaned forward in resigned exhaustion. Oscar could feel pulses along the tear, the old man was thinking about something, trying to see…

"... I can't even imagine," he said finally, face lost under the mop of his hair and the hand on his forehead. "I can't… no… I can perfectly imagine how hard it must have been." He looked up, and his brown eyes were haunted, lost, and so _sad_ , so full of all the feelings he had in the snow when he disappeared: self loathing, self hatred, despondency, exhaustion above all else, hollow emptiness. "I can easily imagine pushing you into feeling the only answers you would get would be from the relic."

He shook his head, straightening slightly and looking at his mug. His face screamed that he wanted the chocolate to be something stronger, but he grabbed the mug and held it in his hands, lacing his fingers together.

"I don't know where you were - are - in the merger," he said, leaning back and tilting his head to the back of the chair, "nor how much access you have to my memories, especially now that we've been torn asunder. Hope…" his voice trailed off for a moment, his eyes lost on… something.

"Hope is the most precious gift humanity has to offer - more important than even Choice. Hope spurs us on, pushes us forward, lifts us up, keeps us buoyed. Losing hope is losing so much more, and every time I was weak enough to tell someone about her, about the true nature of the curse we were placed under, it's shattering. I myself was lost for several lifetimes after Jinn told me the truth, and when real people learn about her…" He shook his head. "I can't do it," he said. "I can't be the one to ruin their hope, to destroy their hopes. I want us at our best, not at our worst. Without hope…"

Oscar remembered that feeling, remembered talking to Ironwood, telling him the truth, watching his face utterly _break_. And then… the Maiden's chamber… Oscar looked down at his hands, at the cane.

"But to your question," the headmaster said, taking a deep breath. "There is, as you know, a lot to cover, and like-minded or not there is a certain amount of incredulity to overcome. It takes time to guide an incarnation into being ready enough to accept it all. And, moreover, there is the very real danger of her finding us before the merger is complete. We are at our most vulnerable when we are merging: trying to decide who is in control, trying to bring the new incarnation up to speed, training our new body so we are not defenseless. It has happened when we are captured: and one of us betrays information to her to save the other or visa versa. It has to be compartmentalized, safe, hidden. I cannot protect you completely, because you have me with you, but if I can spare you even some of the risk…" He shrugged.

"So… you're not… protecting yourself?" Oscar asked. He felt he already knew the answer, but he asked anyway.

"There's nothing to protect." The professor shook his head. "I am nothing," he said, the admission dark and empty and like nothing Oscar had ever heard from the old man before. "I've been torn away and stitched to so many people, ripped and resewn, that there's nothing of me left outside of the missive the God of Light gave me and Ozma's memories. All I can do, the only thing that will make all of this worth… anything… is if people can learn to work together and rise above their individual weaknesses and contribute to the masses strength. The price I pay is betrayal, reincarnation, capture, torture, and reincarnation again. Humanity can do it - I've seen what they are capable of, the heights they can climb - but I've also seen how low they can sink, how far they can fall. I don't want…"

His voice trailed off, and Oscar watched the subtle changes in the headmaster's face, the memories flitting over it, the emotions, thousands of lifetimes being experienced over and over. Finally he shook his head. "I am being pretentious," he said. "Yes, I am protecting myself; I suppose that's true. But I'm also protecting my partner, giving them hope and keeping their advisors safe so nothing happens to, well, anyone."

Oscar finally looked down, his hands curled around the shaft of the cane. Seeing the wizard like this - open in a way he never was in his head… making confessions he would never have made before… Would he have been like this if Oscar hadn't been sent back? Would he have made these same admissions? … Oscar would likely never know. It was a lot to take in, a lot to process, and the soul-ache hadn't gone away, only lessened. He felt heavy, but not from the tear, tired-heavy. His eyes were dragging down.

"I know…" he said, "that there was a virus; Ironwood couldn't stop it, and it bothered him. Blake said the White Fang were used to transport Grimm on airships. Yang was made to look like a brigand during the Festival, she didn't say how, making all the people watching feel tense. Jaune said Pyrrha… didn't make it. And Ruby… she said Cinder killed the Fall Maiden. Weiss said that's when the communication tower fell."

He looked up, and the headmaster - if possible - looked even _more_ exhausted and drawn out. He nodded, however, standing and reaching out to tuck Oscar - he shied away.

The wizard looked sad again, but instead he just reached out and touched the cane, just shy of Oscar's grip. "Thank you," he said, "Oscar."

Both of them winced, pain lacing through Oscar and the headmaster reaching up to his head. It wasn't the blind agony of before, though, and Oscar laid down, almost immediately drifting towards sleep. He felt fingers run through his hair, and a soft kiss to his forehead, something he remembered from long ago, and it made him feel safe.

* * *

Oscar woke up slowly. He felt numb and empty, and wondered where he was. Then he remembered. Sighing, Oscar got up slowly, still feeling nothing.

It was too much.

It was just _too_ much to process.

What was he supposed to _do_? The headmaster… he had been…

Oscar shook his head.

He sighed deeply, and winced as he smelled himself. He could still smell the smoke and sweat from running around Atlas before he had _somehow_ ended up here. _Brothers,_ he wanted a shower.

And his stomach rumbled again.

With no clue what to do, Oscar got up, rubbed his face and headed out. He didn't get far, because he saw the headmaster on the couch in the main living space and frowned. It was so strange to actually _see_ the headmaster. This tall, skinny man, dressed in fresh clothes despite being asleep, glasses on the coffee table. He was… Oscar didn't expect him to look so human. As just a voice in his head, the headmaster didn't really have any physical attributes that he could think of other than that low, soft tenor. To see the white hair, thin fingers… to see brows still furrowed in sleep, tense.

It made the headmaster human in a way Oscar wasn't expecting.

Or wanted to see him as.

With a huff, Oscar crossed to the small kitchen to find something to eat and found a tray of cereal already set out with cold toast, and a note.

_Milk and juice are in the refrigerator. You needed the rest. You are unused to dealing with the tear. It will still hurt today, though the intensity will have receded. By the time you're likely up, I'll be working. You can find me easily, no matter where I am on campus, though that will require poking at the tear. I advise you to keep resting. Until you can handle the tear, you are vulnerable._

_Headmaster._

Oscar scowled. How did the headmaster know that even _thinking_ the name still hurt? Of course he did. _Stupid wizard_.

Still, his stomach was rumbling and he had his cereal, toast and juice. Oscar looked to the cookies from the previous night, still left out, and grumbled, heading back to the room. He needed a shower. He'd have to change back into his dirty clothes, but that wasn't any different than the farm when there was a drought and he and his aunt conserved what they had for the crops. A quick bath in the stream was all they could do.

Oscar went into the bathroom to look for towels and paused.

There, folded neatly, was a set of clothes that looked like his size. The uniform for the school.

Oscar went back to the bed and sat down, just overwhelmed with feelings.

What was he supposed to do with this? With the headmaster treating him like this? It wasn't _like_ before, when the old wizard just spouted information and held things back. There was… _tenderness_ and… that wasn't how Oscar ever saw the old soul, so… it was all so strange….

Oscar cried. All the emotion from the past few days was too much and he just _cried._

_Again_.

He was so sick of this. The weight of all this responsibility, the weight of the wizard, the weight of the fact that he _somehow_ went back in time… It was just all so _much_.

After a while he sniffed, rubbed his face, and took a deep breath.

Shower. He needed a shower. Wash everything off, maybe feel human again.

He pulled off his waistcoat and jacket, setting them aside with the belts and boots that someone… (the headmaster?) had removed the previous evening. He double checked all his pockets and pouches. He still had everything. So strange. How in Remnant did time travel even work?

Down to his shirt and trousers, Oscar sat down to pull off his dirty socks, the Long Memory by his side.

"What are you _doing here_?"

Panic. Instant panic and a sharp throbbing ache in his side, Oscar immediately grabbed the cane and turned around, staring at the tall, broad, clean-shaven form of General James Ironwood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small cliffhanger!
> 
> Mostly this chapter is about getting a feel for Oscar's headspace. Vol8's first half was still coming out when we started writing this so who knows how their relationship builds in the second half of that season long Anxiety Attack. For now we know Oscar isn't happy Ozpin is back, and who would want the source of the existential erasure to pop up again regardless?
> 
> The two do get one very long conversation at like 3 am, and we realize Oz is not completely his V3 self. Some of Oscar's experiences have bled through the "tear" and he can sense honesty is going to be the best policy, overcoming Oz's biggest hurdle, how intensely private-share-nothing-stay-safe he is.
> 
> Next chapter: Oz has a conversation about the difference of a battle vs a war.


	4. Chapter 4

After Os-after his future partner had fallen asleep Ozpin had needed several hours to compartmentalize everything he had admitted and shared, shocked that he had said such things out loud instead of the private space of a shared soul. Shocked that he had shared some things at all - deeply private feelings that he never told _anyone_ , but somehow he sensed that the boy needed that level of deep honesty. It had physically hurt, dragging those things out of him, but his incarnation needed it and Ozpin would gladly give it if it gave the child such solace. He had been through a lot - James _shooting_ him - _in the Vault_ \- and he was so young, so small. So many lifetimes of being a parent called up those feelings so easily, so many years as a teacher gently guiding students, trying to teach them about life and love and friendship and potential - he had to do whatever he could for this incarnation, especially if Beacon was going to fall…

Ozpin blinked, realized he was staring blankly at a wall, and got up. He certainly had work to do if he was going to spare the boy from bonding to him - even if it was only a few weeks. Glancing at the clock and realizing it was shortly before sunrise, he moved to get breakfast for his future partner and wrote him a note. He was able to take a shower without waking the boy, and he left out materials for his incarnation to do something similar when he awoke.

Clean and changed, he sat on the couch, setting the alarm on his scroll for when his first meeting of the day was. He set his glasses down and leaned back, closing his eyes. If he could rest for twenty minutes, even an hour, he could be able to get through the day. Just a few minutes…

He woke slowly, the realization that he was awake slow to process like everything else. The sun was up…? Damn it.

Ozpin straightened, rubbing his eyes and looking inward to the tear. It was less inflamed, but still raw. His headache was… well if it was reduced Ozpin wasn't in a place to realize it, he was overtired, his eyes _burned_ , and he had an exhaustion headache on top of a _soul_ headache along the tear. He would be at a reduced capacity today; he would have to text Glynda to reschedule his meetings if she hadn't alrea-

"What are you _doing_ here?"

James…?

 _Panic horror shot to you it's general_ …!

Ozpin was on his feet in an instant, activating his semblance to close the distance and put himself between James and his future partner. The general blinked, eyes wide at his sudden appearance. The boy was holding the Long Memory in a defensive stance, hazel eyes wide, breath shallow. Ozpin did nothing, waited for his arrival to ripple through both parties. James relaxed, but only fractionally, his face evening out. "Oz," he said.

"James," Ozpin replied. "I hope you know you're standing very aggressively in front of a half dressed and traumatized child."

"Traumatized?" James demanded, face hardening. "He arrives out of nowhere, breaks through all the security-"

"We are going to talk outside," Ozpin said in his softest voice, gesturing to the door.

James pursed his lips but nodded, turning and marching out of the room. Ozpin turned to give the boy a soft look, silently impressing that he would handle this, and followed the general out to the main apartment.

"I _told_ Glynda and Qrow to put that boy under lock and key," James said, arms crossed.

"And _I_ told them to do no such thing," Ozpin replied. "He is a _child_."

"That doesn't _matter_ , Oz; not when we're at war," Jame countered, gesturing for emphasis.

"But this isn't a _war_ ," Ozpin corrected, wishing badly to grip the Long Memory, draw from its strength. "This is a battle, yes, but you don't fight for the soul of a person by punching them, you fight for the soul of a person through example, empathy, solidarity. We fight for the soul of _humanity_ , and unhindered aggression will only drive us to darker paths."

" _Oz_ ," James said, setting his jaw, "that's just an excuse for inaction. Being soft doesn't get results-"

"That depends entirely on the results you're looking for," Ozpin countered, starting to lean on his cane before remembering he didn't have it. "If you are looking for an immediate reaction: a stiffening of the spine and falling into line then yes, be as aggressive as possible. Short term results have a certain allure, a sense of satisfaction. But long term results-"

"You can't tell me letting that boy have the run of the tower leads to long term results that don't include him going back to the _enemy_ ," James said, leaning into Ozpin's personal space.

Ozpin did not yield, did not shrink, held his ground; waited for James to catch himself, take a long, deep breath, close his eyes and back down.

"Your guard does not always have to be up, James," he said, voice low and soft. "You _can_ loosen your grip on yourself, breath and step back. You can gain someone to your side if you offer a hand instead of a fist. They might not take your hand, but they will remember your kindness, and if they see enough kindness they will internalize it, and demonstrate it in return. You have no idea what the boy has been through, you have no idea what pain he has or has not suffered, you have no idea what confronting him will trigger."

"Oz, _you_ don't know any of that either," James accused, calmer now but still disagreeing.

"No, I don't," Ozpin conceded. "But that doesn't mean I treat him like he doesn't deserve that kind of kindness."

James took a deep breath through his nose again, shoulders lowering the faintest of hairs, shelving the argument for now. "He could still be working for her."

Ozpin shook his head. "No, he isn't."

"Oz, honestly, how can you know that?"

Ozpin smiled, soft and gentle, and let the silence speak for itself. James rubbed a hand along his strong jaw, scratching at a cheek, sighing. "He shouldn't be staying in your apartments," he said, a last ditch effort.

"In that we disagree," Ozpin said. "For now, he needs to come to terms with what's happened to him. In the interim, if you're looking for something to do, perhaps you can go over your computer systems, make sure no one unauthorized has access to them or if a virus has been planted."

James frowned, perking. "A virus?" His dark eyes shifted, thinking rapidly. "Did the boy…?"

"I haven't learned everything, but he _was_ ," Ozpin lifted a pointed eyebrow at the general, "feeling relaxed enough to tell me some things."

"What else-"

"No, I won't betray his trust."

A natural but uncomfortable pause drew out, Ozpin giving James the chance to make a choice. His headache was spiking, tired and wrung out and still so raw along the tear, but none of it showed as he kept his back straight - his arms politely clasped in front of him in lieu of the Long Memory. His incarnation's memory, _to you it's general_ … Ozpin knew James was rigid, but he was appalled that he was _that_ unbending. He would have to talk to him more about empathy, choice, compassion. Strength was more than giving orders and being calm in the face of danger - it was being soft when one needed to, allowing oneself to explore and come to terms with one's emotions. There were more ways to react to danger than just anger, and Ozpin would have to guide James to that conclusion.

If he had enough time left…

James finally sighed, dipping his head in defeat before giving Ozpin a square look. "We're not done talking about this."

"I don't think we are," Ozpin agreed quickly. "But I hope our disagreement doesn't lead to something as petty as removing me from the Festival security board."

James glared at him, but he turned with a snap of his boots and marched out of the apartment. Only then did Ozpin let out his breath. Only then did he rub at his temples.

* * *

Oscar listened from the other side of the door, the cane gripped tightly in his hands, waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop. Ironwood was easy to hear, his voice was always rich and deep, clear and precise. The old wizard was all of those things, but he was also quiet. He didn't raise his voice once as he just… deflated Ironwood in the span of a few sentences. Oscar didn't… he felt like he was watching his aunt when they were having a fight, Oscar mad and wanting to yell and stamp his feet, but his aunt always seemed to cut under the anger and just… turn it off.

Oscar opened the door a crack to watch Ironwood leave, and once he was gone Oscar saw the headmaster take a deep breath, slouching forward and rubbing his temples. He was being loose with his body again, something Oscar was becoming increasingly aware he didn't do often. He opened the door more fully, and the headmaster immediately straightened, moving to lean on the cane before remembering he didn't have it. Oscar looked down at it, still in his grip. It _wasn't_ his cane, not really - not yet? - he really needed to let it go.

The wizard moved closer to Oscar, but stopped a respectable distance, pursing his lips and frowning. "I'm sorry," he said, "That you were so scared."

"I wasn't scared," Oscar said, looking down.

"I could feel it, along the tear."

… Oh.

"Uhm," Oscar said, retracting the cane. "I mean, thank you, I guess. For stepping in." He reached out, offered the cane. He saw the headmaster's eyes widen, hand automatically reaching out before he controlled the impulse.

"No, keep it for now," he said, and Oscar could hear brittle steel in the voice. "You need every comfort you can afford right now. I have lived without the Long Memory before."

That… didn't ring true to Oscar's mind. Jinn had shown him _making_ the cane, and how long he had it, and he knew just from being an incarnation how precious it was. He didn't believe Ozp-he didn't believe the old headmaster would give it up so quickly, and he wondered why… "Why are you lying?" he asked.

The headmaster's eyes widened slightly, Oscar could see the brown more clearly, before a soft smile touched his face. He stepped forward and put his hand on Oscar's shoulder. "It helps you," he said, "You feel comfortable holding it, like I do. Between the two of us you need it more."

"But you want it, too."

"I do, but you're more important."

Oscar shook his head, curling away from the touch, but his cheeks were warm. "I still gotta take a shower," he mumbled, retreating to the bedroom of the apartment. He took a moment to collect himself, frowning and looking inward. Why had that exchange felt so warm? The headmaster… ever since entering his head the old wizard had been the most important person in the room - the one with all the answers, and Oscar had to cede _his own body_ so the most important person could say what he needed to. No matter what the old man said, Oscar always had to be second fiddle. But here, now, the headmaster was making _Oscar_ the priority: getting him breakfast, arranging for a change of clothes, giving him straight answers in the dead of night. It felt… it reminded Oscar of older, dimmer memories, soft but tinged with sadness. Mom… Dad…

Oscar shook his head again, taking a breath. That was _not_ an association he was ready to make yet. Instead, he finished changing and stepped into the shower.

* * *

Opening ceremonies, one of the two highlights of the Vytal Festival. Glynda watched from the observer box while Port and Ooblek provided commentary and described what was going on for the more rural parts of Vale that had intermittent signal and could only get sound. The Great War was reenacted by students and alumni, ritualized with streamers and choreography and fireworks. This year the role of King of Vale went to a tiny First Year from Shade, swinging a prop sword and someone using an obvious Semblance to mimic the magic that had happened on the battlefield. After that the students of all four schools laid out on the ground, a virtual graveyard to honor those who fought, while the names of Hunters who had been lost over the last two years were read out. Oz once said he had never intended to have opening ceremonies, had only insisted that the loss should be honored.

Now she watched him walk across the rows and rows of students, some breaking character to wave to him, and Glynda wondered what he thought of the display. James also walked across the stage, the prior host of the Vytal Festival, in full ceremonial uniform and carrying an ornate wreath of native Solitas flowers, each with layers of meaning.

Even from up here she could see James' face, the hard frown pressed on it as he filled his ceremonial role. He held out the wreath, bowing at the waist, and Ozpin bowed in turn, hundreds of cameras flashing at the biggest moment of the ceremony. He took the wreath, and with a bit of sleight of hand, the wreath transformed from Solitas flowers to the rich colors of Sanus flowers. The crowd reacted, and James straightened from his bow. Ozpin held his for several moments longer, before straightening and leaning in to say something to the general. Typical. Glynda smiled and shook her head.

As if risen from the dead, all the students shot to their feet and flooded the two headmasters, clapping and cheering as Beacon accepted the role of host academy. Glynda left Port and Oobleck to continue their commentary, took an elevator to the spectator stands and moved to one of the entrance doors. Ozpin was tall enough that she could just make out his white head of hair as he shook hands and talked and smiled to everyone. She'd barely had three words with him before the ceremonies started - he admitted he had overslept and still had a headache, but she couldn't tell from here. His unflappable air was ironclad when students were involved: jovial, kind, mischievous. The air hardly dropped around adults, but at least with his inner circle he was more obvious: diligent, thoughtful, meticulous, and always a little sad.

He nodded his head as he approached, his eyes were dark but his smile was so bright one could hardly see it. Glynda fell naturally by his side, tapping on her pad and giving a quick and meaningless report on viewership and ratings and the coverage by Lavender as the crowds slowly fell away. His gate was slower, and him not having his cane was more noticeable now. She wanted to ask, but academically she could understand why the boy in the tower, Oscar, had the Long Memory: Ozpin would want a child to feel safe, no matter what it cost him personally.

Glynda and Ozpin maintained their empty conversation until they boarded the Atlas plane that lowered them from Amity Colosseum to ground level. The fair grounds were already packed with people, even more students and foodies and entertainers, and finally once that was cleared they curved around the dorms and across the grand courtyard and to the clock tower. Once they were in the elevator Ozpin finally let the mask slip, sighing and leaning against the wall of the elevator, reaching up and pulling off his shades to rub at his temples.

"Did you sleep at all?" Glynda asked.

"A few hours. We talked, much later. It was strange, having a conversation with an incarnation… out loud." He shook his head and immediately thought better of it, tilting it back against the metallic wall of the elevator. "Any word from our dusty old crow?" he asked, voice soft and heavy.

"No," Glynda said with a sniff. "But after all his drinking yesterday I'm not surprised."

Ozpin hummed, and when the elevator dinged he straightened. There was an unevenness to his steps but he sat at his desk and just looked so _relieved_.

"You can go to bed now," Glynda offered. "I can field calls and messages."

"... I think I scared him, last night," Ozpin said, eyes closed and leaning deeply into his chair.

"Who? Oscar?"

Ozpin winced, but shook his head. "No," he answered. "Qrow."

Glynda blinked. "We were both scared last night when you collapsed and the boy appeared underneath you."

"... yes," he said, though Glynda sensed he was thinking about something else. "I can only imagine. I'm sorry."

Oh, honestly. She shook her head. "It can't be helped, and if nothing else you trained us to roll with a lot. I find this is nothing new."

Ozpin gave a ghost of a grin, looking up at her. "I suppose it was the introduction of an initiation?" he asked lightly.

Glynda smiled, his first public display of mischief that still reverberated through the academies years later. "If we can live with suddenly knowing about a dark entity trying to ruin the world and a timeless soul trying to stop it then I think finding a time-traveling future soul is just another drop in the bucket."

His smile faded, eyes falling to a further distance. "I'm not timeless," he said softly, lacing his fingers together. "I'm very mortal."

That was… new. Glynda frowned, looking at Ozpin with more focus. She had never known the headmaster to admit to that kind of weakness - it was a miracle he had admitted to the headache yesterday, a testament to how bad it was ( _obviously_ , in light of the following events). Now he was talking about his own mortality, something he was always a little coy about, and she could hear the sadness again, the weight in his voice when he was talking about training the students and (desperately, she could tell) wishing their lives stay as happy and healthy as possible.

Ozpin caught her gaze and he smiled, sad. "I am two people simultaneously," he said softly, reaching up and tapping his head, "One of those people is very mortal. With the boy here, I'm being confronted with my own eventual mortality."

Glynda frowned again. "You're worried," she said simply.

"Yes," he admitted, and Glynda had never seen him _admit_ he was worried. She had _intuited_ that he was worried, she had _watched_ him be worried, but he never _admitted_ it, always deflected with a gentle smile and reassurance. How bad…?

"How bad do you think it will get?" she asked. "With the White Fang and Torchwick's gang?"

He looked at her, face unreadable, and he said nothing for several, long minutes.

Finally, he looked away, spinning his chair around to the window. "We can always hope that people will make better choices," he said softly.

That scared Glynda more than any reassurance he would have offered.

* * *

Ozpin was _exhausted_ : maybe three hours sleep, the pulsing ache of the tear along his soul, facing the fact that Beacon could very well fall if things didn't change - including his upcoming departure from his current body. Attached to that were all the normal stresses of the day: the White Fang and Torchwick's gang had both gone deep underground, meaning there was a third arm preparing to strike, and the Vytal Festival was just _too tempting_ , on top of being too _poetic_. He had walked out during the memorial and seen so many students lying on the ground and he felt… He saw too many people he knew, too many memories, too many lives lost over something he could only at best hold back and at worst never defeat. Seeing all of them spring up and cheer him… it hurt. He didn't deserve it, he didn't deserve their goodwill. All he could do was try and make even one life a little bit better, inspire even the tiniest sliver of hope and hope in turn that it would grow into something greater than him.

His headache spiked along the tear and he sighed. His future partner was working through… something. The sunset behind him was hurting his eyes and spiking along the headache; it felt like he had rubbed his temples raw but the pain had not subsided, because he wasn't _actually_ rubbing where the pain was. He turned off his screen and ran his hands through his hair. Glynda had already cleared his schedule, citing illness from something he ate. What he wouldn't give to hold the Long Memory in his hands, feel the age and memories and solace that he was still…

Ozpin shook his head. Still no sign of Qrow, and he knew his eye on the outside was hurting. He sent another text, asking if there was anything he could do, knowing he wouldn't get a reply, and James… he hadn't decided how to handle James yet - he needed to think, and that was damnably hard with his head pulsing and the bright sunlight blurring his vision. Then the tear pulsed and Oscar - he put his head in his hands and held the moan in his chest. No one was in the office, but old habits die hard, it seemed. What was his partner doing? He turned inward, running imaginary fingers along the tear to see… the Vault, _to you it's general_. That sent pain through his entire frame, he'd pulled at the tear too much and he was forced to put his head on the desk, let the cool glass absorb the sudden flush of pain. He was so _tired_.

Taking a breath, he stood once he could see - he walked when he could see _straight_ , and made it to the elevator. The overhead light was dimmer than the rich sunset outside and he audibly sighed in relief for the relief. He folded his hands in front of him in lieu of the cane, listened to the low hum of the elevator as it descended.

The Vault was even dimmer, and for a moment he felt almost human.

His next incarnation was there, at the far end of the hall, looking up at Amber.

Ozpin held back; his partner had shied away from his touch several times, he got the message, but the father in him wanted so badly to hold his shoulders, run fingers through his hair, _hug him_ for the pain he was suffering. Instead he waited, leaning against one of the columns in the dim light, savoring the relief of his headache.

The boy turned, the school uniform still about two sizes too big - he was so _small_ \- and for a moment neither of them said anything. Ozpin looked up to Amber, remembering when Qrow had dragged her back, trying to save her, remembering when he and Fria had told her about her sister Autumn, remembered holding Autumn's hand at the very end.

"What happened to her?" his future partner asked.

"Amber and her sister always suffered wanderlust," he explained, "they felt the need to be out amongst the people, helping in whatever way they could. I could not deny her, and that left her vulnerable. She was attacked on the road, probably by a group, and something was used to drain…" He closed his eyes. "Her magic has been greatly reduced. Can you feel it?"

The boy shook his head. "No," he said softly.

"James had the technology to keep her alive, but if she passes now, we don't know who the power will go to."

His incarnation looked down, and Ozpin could feel a mountain of emotion on the other side of the tear before it was shut down and the boy looked up. "I don't see the door to the chamber," he said by way of changing subject.

Ozpin nodded. "Of all the relics, the crown is the most securely kept. Even if Beacon were to fall, the invaders would be hard pressed to find it."

Osc - the boy looked down again, frowning. "If I asked, would you tell me?"

Oh, what a question to ask. Ozpin took a deep breath through his nose and felt his headache spike. "No," he admitted. "Some things I keep until after the merger is complete, and that is one of them. I will never tell that secret, and my incarnation can't if they don't know it."

"But then how do I learn-? Right… the merger."

Ozpin knew the weight of that voice, had gone through it himself. He started to reach out before he caught himself, put his hands behind his back.

"I… I don't want to merge with you," his incarnation said, voice broken. "I don't… I don't want to stop being _me_."

Ozpin closed his eyes to the emotion that welled up in him. "Neither do I," he said, and his voice was heavy, too. Broken. "I never do. When he woke in me I felt so…"

"... yeah."

The natural silence that followed was soft but sad, both of them so different but somehow the same. Ozpin had gone through all of those stages, felt all of those feelings, and he felt them over and over and over again, with every incarnation.

"When did you accept it?" the boy asked, still not looking at him. "Becoming Oz."

"It wasn't a single moment," he answered, drifting through his memories. "I can hardly point to a moment in time and say: that was when I accepted what was happening to me. Rather, it was over a period of time: adjusting to having him in my head, coming to believe what he was saying, knowing I wanted to help. I suppose, in the end, I finally accepted that it was the best thing I could do with my life."

His future partner looked up then, hazel eyes wide and so full of _hurt_. Ozpin couldn't fight his urge anymore, he closed the distance and knelt down, hugging his small partner. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so, _so_ sorry. I can't stop it, I've tried so many times…" And the boy let go, everything pouring out of him, and Ozpin held him tight through the storm as they both allowed each other to grieve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And if anyone hasn't figured it out yet, this fic is all about the FEELS. Aaaaaah, these, two... somebody hug them.
> 
> It might be just us but one thing we keep circling back to is that Oz is probably not as passive as he appears to be in the beginning of the series. Fighting, flashy moves, grand gestures, they aren't in Oz's vocabulary. Rather, he's all about the softer skills: persuasion, hope, conviction, kindness. If one thing 2020 taught us is that kindness is integral to people's mental health and empathy is the vehicle to deliver that kindness. That, we think, is Oz's philosophy. It's subtle, because the gains are very, VERY long term, but it is not passive.
> 
> We also get to show some small changes - James has to look for a virus, Glynda observes that Oz is actually admitting he's worried, etc. Oz has bits of V8 Oz in him, learned from his deceptions and is more forthright than he ever was in V3.
> 
> Also, wouldn't there have been opening ceremonies for the Vytal Festival? It's this huge international televised event... So we gave them Opening Ceremonies.
> 
> Also-also: the cane. Hold whatever thought that is, it'll be important later for us to Not-Explain-Time-Travel.
> 
> And again, these two need the biggest, tightest, warmest hugs people can give them.
> 
> Next chapter: that last scene from Oscar's POV.


	5. Chapter 5

It was a lot to process. Oscar had the disconcerting experience of watching the open ceremonies from the headmaster's apartment but also remembering listening to them on the radio at home with his aunt. The announcers Oscar had pictured as a used transport salesman and some kind of glory seeking author - he was surprised to see they were actually professors at Beacon; Professor Port and expert of Grimm biology - such as it was - and Professor Oobleck having a doctorate in history. They did look their parts, however, Oobleck quick and jerky and Port jolly and boastful. Mostly though, the cameras were on the Amity Stadium that he had pictures of in his books at home. The arena was filled with students and spectators; he tugged at his jacket as he now knew what the Beacon uniform was, and the Atlas uniform, too.

The history of the Great War played out, artsy and elegant. On the radio all he had heard was the music and the crowds as the two professors retold the war from a script. Actually watching it… he could feel echoes of… something, and it made his whole body ache, pulsing along the tear. His eyes welled when all of the students lay down on the floor of the colosseum, numbers in his head and the vague memory of…

" _You brought us victory, my lord._ "

" _No. The bodies make this a failure_."

Oscar gasped, and slid down the couch to his side, his body heavy and achy. That was the tear. It got worse when he saw the wizard and Ironwood walk out. The used transport - Dr. Oobleck had proudly noted that he was the youngest headmaster in history, taking the position at twenty-four and making Beacon a force to be reckoned with during the tournament, listing several famous hunters who had graduated from Beacon. Ironwood had ascended some years ago so that Headmaster Fria could retire, and with him came the pipeline of hunters joining the military, presumably because of his military background. His services were long and heroic, Port noted several injuries in the line of duty.

Oscar… wasn't surprised, and he hurt even more when he saw the wizard and the general bow to each other - more still when Ozpin - dull fire flared under his bones - _stayed_ bowed for several seconds.

The wreaths were beautiful - Oscar remembered his aunt pulling out a botanical book to show him what the Atlas flowers looked like and what the Vale flowers looked like. Cool blues and delicate buds with tiny leaves transforming to mountain lilies of red and gold colors: lupine, coneflowers, poppies, greyfeathers, orange snapdragons. His aunt told him they all meant things, and Oscar had flipped through the books as the description had gone on.

Having said that, he couldn't appreciate actually seeing the wreaths; he was too busy looking at Ironwood.

" _To you; it's general._ "

" _You can't tell me letting that boy have the run of the tower leads to long term results that don't include him going back to the_ enemy _._ "

Oscar shuddered, reaching out to turn off the TV. Looked like Ironwood had always been like that. Oscar… he had to get away, put some distance to the clean-shaven general. He pushed himself to his feet, body still so achy, and tried to move around. The apartment was small - surprising the former farmer. For some reason he expected large open space, a full kitchen, a full washroom. But it was smaller than his house on the farm - he could only pace so many ways before he had nowhere to go, and he stared long and hard at the elevator.

He stepped in and pressed numbers into the keypad, not really sure what he was pressing, just trying to _not think_. His body _ached_ while he stood in the elevator, and he kept squirming and curling around the pain, trying to get comfortable. It wasn't the agony of yesterday, but that wasn't exactly a good bar to judge by, either. He moved his hands around, feeling the pain in his wrists and hips and neck.

The bell dinged, and he stepped out to see not the office - like he thought he had input - but… the _Vault_. He knew it without ever being there: the vaulted ceilings, the dark pillars, the empty sense of _waiting_. He stepped into the Vault, eyes wide as he moved around. Where were the lights? The glowing dust of the Vault in Atlas? Atlas…

" _Do you intend to fight me?_ "

Oscar shuddered, running a hand through his hair. What good was thinking about that if he couldn't fix it back in the past? As far as he knew, Ironwood thought he was dead and the others…

There, at the end of the long hall, was some kind of Atlas machine, he recognized the design. What was it doing in Vale? At Beacon? He moved around a pillar, stepping closer, seeing the soft glow of lights, monitors. There was a second machine, dormant, next to the first, massive power chords and - …!

Oscar stared, looking up and seeing the face beyond the glass, the closed eyes, the scaring, the look of… pain. What? What happened to Amber? Pain shot through his nerves, and he braced himself against the machine, realizing he was remembering something that wasn't his. Amber. Amber Gold, with a sister, and a story… Qrow flying in saying something that happened, seeing her limp and clinging to life and… and… Oscar cut the thoughts off before he dove too far, realizing what was happening and stepping back, struggling to breath. That _damn_ wizard.

He looked up at the girl again, and all he could feel was sad. So many bad things happened in Vaults - Yang confronted her mother, and while she never talked about it everyone knew that it hurt her. And James… in Atlas…

" _To you, it's general."_

How had it all gone so wrong…? Why was everyone suffering so much?

He heard the headmaster approach, but stopped well short of Oscar, and he was glad, glad the old wizard had figured out he wanted some distance, any distance, between them. He looked up at Amber again, trying to decide if he wanted to talk.

"What happened to her?" he asked

"Amber and her sister always suffered wanderlust," the headmaster explained, "they felt the need to be out amongst the people, helping in whatever way they could. I could not deny her, and that left her vulnerable. She was attacked on the road, probably by a group, and something was used to drain…" Oscar turned, saw the headmaster close his eyes, tilt his head back and lean it against the pillar. "Her magic has been greatly reduced. Can you feel it?"

Feel it? Oscar looked inward, found nothing. "No," he said softly, looking down. Still not measuring up… Would he ever be good enough? Would he ever be on equal footing with the wizard? Only now the old man was so different: honest, open, just only in front of him, away from the prying eyes of others. Would he answer questions now? Real, hard questions?

"I don't see the door to the chamber," he said softly, trying to be subtle. Probably failing.

The headmaster nodded. "Of all the relics, the crown is the most securely kept. Even if Beacon were to fall, the invaders would be hard pressed to find it."

Oscar looked down again, frowning. "If I asked, would you tell me?"

The pause that drew out was intense, Oscar could feel the weight - not just on his shoulders but on the headmaster's. He glanced up, and saw so much on the wizard's face. "... No," he admitted finally. "Some things I keep until after the merger is complete, and that is one of them. I will never tell that secret, and my incarnation can't if they don't know it."

What? "But then how do I learn-?"

Oh. "Right… the merger." Oscar looked down, realizing how much was still in the dark to him - even after Jinn, even after learning about Salem - still there were secrets that the old man would keep. Things he wouldn't share. Even now, more open than he had ever been, there were things he wouldn't say, things he wouldn't _trust_ Oscar with. And no matter how bitter Oscar was over it all, even after all this time it _hurt_. Oscar didn't want this, he didn't _ask_ for this: the secrets, the lies, the veils, the _inevitable loss of identity_.

"I… I don't want to merge with you," he confessed. "I don't… I don't want to stop being _me_."

Was there even a point? He had said all of this before, the wizard knew _damn_ well how he felt about all of this, but still he said the words, wanted to be _heard_ , _felt_ , _seen_. Someone had to know what he felt like, someone had to understand what he was going through, and nobody did - nobody _could_ \- nobody accept...

"Neither do I," the headmaster said, and Oscar looked up in surprise, blinking rapidly as everything he ever wanted to hear was said in three simple words. The headmaster looked like he was in pain, brow furrowed as he made the confession, admitted something Oscar somehow knew he never, _ever_ , said out loud. "I never do. When he woke in me I felt so…"

And the professor was speechless, speechless in the way Oscar was, lacking the language to describe all the feelings that came with… came with being an incarnation. He looked down. "... yeah," was all he could offer.

A natural pause settled around them, Oscar marveling that the headmaster had said as much as he did. It was like last night, when he just… admitted things, even when it hurt him. The raw honesty was new and scary but comforting at the same time. Oscar felt less alone, knowing that Ozp-that the wizard struggled with becoming an Oz.

"When did you accept it?" he asked, staring at his hands. "Becoming Oz."

"It wasn't a single moment," the headmaster said softly. "I can hardly point to a moment in time and say: that was when I accepted what was happening to me. Rather, it was over a period of time: adjusting to having him in my head, coming to believe what he was saying, knowing I wanted to help. I suppose, in the end, I finally accepted that it was the best thing I could do with my life."

_It was the best thing I could do with my life_.

Oscar felt the weight of those words on his very soul, the inevitable realization that accepting the mantle of Oz was the only thing he could do, the best way to help the world - especially after everything he knew now, and the certainty of the thought hurt _even more_ , knowing that not only could he not stop being erased and replaced by the wizard, but also that it was the greatest way to serve the greater good. He had to sacrifice his very identity and…!

He looked up at the professor, unable to articulate the realization, but the headmaster knew it all the same, and his face perfectly matched Oscar's. He closed the distance, reaching out to hug him, and honestly, Oscar needed a hug, needed someone, anyone, to hold him and tell him it would be all right.

"I'm sorry," the wizard whispered. "I'm so, _so_ sorry. I can't stop it, I've tried so many times…"

It wasn't a reassurance, but it was a truth regardless, and Oscar realized he needed to hear it, needed to hear that Ozp - that he hated this as much as he did. That he didn't want to burden Oscar the way that he had. It helped, soothed something deep inside him, and he pressed his head into the headmasters shoulder, reached up and grabbed at the waistcoat, and let himself be hugged.

… Qrow used to do this, when they had first met. He didn't understand why Oscar needed the help, didn't understand what he was going through, but Qrow knew pain, and he knew Oscar needed something. That had stopped after that day in the snow, but the strong arms, the warmth, the deep sense of empathy… Oscar felt like he did when he first started, like someone was looking out for him.

"I'm trying," he mumbled, uncertain if he was even intelligible. "I'm really trying."

"That's more than anyone should expect," the headmaster said into his hair. "That all either of us can do: try. Do our best, put one foot in front of the other, move forward however we can. We fight, we fall, we get up again, because it is the right thing to do - and it hurts, all of it. More and more with each incarnation, but it's worth it, it has to be, because people deserve to live."

"But… I failed… Ironwood…"

"Won't hurt you here," the headmaster said softly, running one hand up and down Oscar's back. "I'll talk to him. I'll figure out… something. He won't hurt you in the future. I'll do something."

… He didn't even know what to do, the headmaster. It was an empty promise, but at the same time it was an admission that he - with all the experience in all of Remnant - didn't know what to do anymore than Oscar did. And… it helped to know that, and Oscar leaned into the hug, shaking his head. "I don't think you can," he whispered, "but thank you for saying that."

"... If I could take it way," the wizard said, "If I could take all the pain away; I would in an instant. You don't deserve it, nobody does except me."

"Oz…" Both of them winced. "You don't deserve it either."

The response was an even tighter squeeze, and Oscar had never felt so… Not since his aunt...

* * *

Qrow was _not_ drunk. Yeah, he may have had a few drinks, but he was _not_ drunk. He was tipsy. Okay, maybe _past_ tipsy, but definitively _not_ drunk. Yet.

He was looking at his flask, currently empty, and wondering where he could fill it. He was currently on the roof of the clocktower just… wallowing.

Oz was going to die.

Soon.

And to say that it was hitting Qrow would be a _mild_ understatement.

Ozpin was the one person in the world who wasn't affected by his semblance. The one person who looked at him, knowing his semblance, and said that he was _glad_ to know him. Someone who knew how to use his semblance in ways Qrow hadn't thought of, someone who _understood_ on a fundamental level what life was like with his semblance.

" _Because, Mr. Branwen, if there is anyone in all of Remnant who has worse luck than you, it's me._ "

And once Qrow saw it, once he knew how to look and _where_ to look in history, damn if it wasn't true.

And Oz was going to die.

That just _wasn't fair_. Qrow tried to remind himself that Oz reincarnated. Oz would never really be gone. But anyone who did even a small look through history with the knowledge of Oz knew that he may come back, but he was different every time.

Fuck, even _now_ , with that future incarnation somehow spawning out of nowhere, Oz was different. Reacting to things differently than he would have, more open and raw in ways he _never_ let anyone see. The dissociation of memories he _didn't have yet_ were already affecting him and that next incarnation was _so_ different, and the fact that an incarnation even _existed_ meant…

Oz was going to die.

And Qrow would _never_ let that happen. Ozpin was going to live to a ripe old age, make progress in the war with Salem, and _then_ he could reincarnate into that boy.

Qrow had only one option to make sure that happened. He needed to stick to Oz's side like glue, ignore any orders to leave. Either that or he'd have to grill the future incarnation for whatever details he could glean to know when he would need to step in.

Because the world needed Ozpin.

The world didn't need Qrow.

" _Qrow, you need to know that meeting you was the best luck of my life._ "

Qrow growled. How the fuck could Oz just _say_ that kinda shit so sincerely, _mean_ it, and just…

What was Qrow supposed to do? He needed to make sure Oz _lived_. No matter what.

" _There is no one in Vale, no one in Remnant that I trust more. You believe in me when I don't deserve it._ "

Qrow as a _pawn_. He was _supposed_ to be a pawn. He was a no-good drunk, a bad luck charm, he was no good to anyone. His _existence_ had taken the best things that ever walked into his life, Summer and Tai, and ruined them. His job was to eventually be sacrificed in the war against Salem. Yeah, he was clearly one of Oz's favorite pawns, because Qrow was _damn good_ at his job, but… he was still just a pawn.

" _Find me. I don't trust anyone else to._ "

But Ozpin seemed to see him as more than a pawn. More than just another means of fighting Salem with his luck.

" _You deserve so much better than me_."

Oz was the immortal wizard who had fought for eons against Salem. He was always calm, unruffled, and had a plan. How was it that he seemed to view himself as so little? Had that always been there?

Why hadn't Qrow ever seen it?

…

Qrow needed more booze.

He dropped from the roof to Oz's balcony. He always did know where the good liquor was. Tottering in, he made his way to the kitchen, where Oz would hide the expensive booze in an attempt to circuitously hide in plain sight in the one place that no one would suspect hidden booze. Unfortunately, he was stopped in the doorway because sitting at the small table was the incarnation, slumped forward, head buried in his arms, looking half asleep.

Okay, so instead of booze, he could figure out how Oz died and _prevent it_.

"Kid?" he asked softly. The incarnation looked like Ruby or Yang when they were younger and weren't feeling good, leaving a lack of energy to sprawling out somewhere.

The kid groaned, lifted his head up, eyes heavy and sighed, before wincing. And curling inward.

Pain? Why?

Qrow reached forward and the kid just buried his head back down into his arms.

"You okay?"

"I ache," was the muffled reply. "The old wizard is doing something he doesn't want to and I'm _feeling_ it."

Right. Magic bullshit. "What's Oz doing?"

The incarnation hissed, curling further. "Don't say the name. He can't hear my name any more than I can hear his right now." The kid looked up, eyes pained. "The tear is too raw."

That made absolutely no sense.

"You don't look particularly torn, kid."

The incarnation shook his head. "You wouldn't see it. If you're looking for him, I think he's meeting the town council right now." Then he sat back, eyes flat. "The general is there."

" _Qrow? Why did James shoot me?_ "

Qrow winced himself, remembering the dissociated words that made no sense. Not knowing what he could say, Qrow just looked under the sink for the booze bottles.

"The alcohol isn't there," the incarnation said.

Qrow looked over. "No one said anything about alcohol, kid. I need to bleach my shirt."

The incarnation looked with sad eyes. "Bleach is in the laundry room and you know that from when the headmaster patched you up… I think it was seven years ago? Or is it eight?"

Qrow scowled, hating magic with everything he could muster and shared soul memory bullshit in particular. "Fine, whatever." He instead went to the fridge to pull out some bread and butter and sat down to cut himself a slice. "So you're from the future. What should we be looking out for?"

The kid rubbed at his arms and up to his shoulders for a second. "I wasn't watching when Beacon fell. I was too busy with prepping for planting season. All I know is what I heard about after."

Qrow smelled bullshit. "You mean you had O-the old man in your head and you don't remember what happened?"

Flat, disbelieving look. "I only woke up from his nightmare once. Immolation isn't exactly something fun to remember. He was more focused on investigating how it happened and finding _you_. Do you want to explain your last minutes to some kid who doesn't even believe you're real? By the time I knew I wasn't going crazy we had a destination in mind and he was trying to make sure I was ready for whatever I'd-we'd be facing."

Qrow snorted. "Sounds like him." Immolation? It took Qrow a minute for his alcohol infused brain to realize… _shit, he_ burned _to death? What the_ f-

"Don't ask for more."

Qrow scowled. How did the kid even know…

The incarnation sat back, hazel eyes narrowed, wary.

That… unexpectedly went right through Qrow. "Kid, if you're an incarnation, if you're the next O-headmaster, you gotta know I'll be by your side."

The kid nodded. "Sober, you will be."

"Pshhht," snorting, Qrow pulled out his flask before he remembered it was empty. "Even Glynda will tell you I'm always drunk."

"You certainly were when we met. Then I had to drag you back to Ruby and introduce myself fundamentally alone with a group that had survived Beacon, which was _terrifying_."

Qrow could only shrug. He was often inebriated, so that was fair. "Probably too busy celebrating that I'd found you."

The kid gave a very flat stare, rubbing at his knees. "You were glad you found _him_. You didn't care about me."

This was a very odd conversation and completely meddling with Qrow's sloshed brain. He rather felt the need to defend himself from something he hadn't done yet. "Nothing wrong with celebrating," he groused, shaking his flask.

The incarnation sighed and stood. "You don't drink to celebrate. You drink when you're in pain." He turned to head back to the main room, but at the doorway he turned, eyes sad and heavy and _just like Oz_. "You've had it rough. No one ever wanted you till the old wizard. Even having him isn't enough to stop you from suffering."

"Hey," Qrow growled, feeling very pierced and not understanding why that line sounded so like _him_. "You don't know me. You're not Oz _yet_ ," he ignored the incarnation flinching, "so stop spouting off what you know nothing about."

Tilting his head back, the kid looked him right in the eye. "Why? If you're disillusioned, will you hit me again? Yell at me to fix things so you can bury yourself in a bottle again? Be so drunk you don't even realize we were under attack and do _nothing_? _Again?_ Face it, you dusty old crow, that flask is a chain holding you back. One you willingly wrap yourself in."

Qrow got up, strode over, and poked the kid right in the chest. "Listen, pipsqueak," he growled, "I've never _done_ any of that shit. I don't know what you're talking about. I hit the booze a lot, but I'm _always_ able to do what needs to be done. I-"

The kid batted his finger away and turned back to the main room. "This is what I'm talking about," he mumbled.

Qrow was getting rather mad. "Look, shortstuff, if you're next in line, if you've been with him at all, then you should _know me_. I would _never_ do any of that shit. So drunk as to not see an attack coming? Were we in one of the kingdoms? That's the only place I'd let so much guard down, and even then, it'd be here in Vale."

Actually, that made sense. He'd just have to give up booze for a few days and stick by Oz's side.

"And as for yelling at you, you're probably being a brat like you are now-"

The incarnation turned around, eyes angry and for a brief moment, Qrow felt _power_ , the same way Oz could just feel _powerful_ and it was enough for him to stop mid-sentence.

"My name is _Oscar_. I am not 'kid', 'pipsqueak', 'shortstuff', or 'brat'. I'm not _Ozpin,_ or _Ozma,_ or Ozair, or Ozymandias, or Oswald-" the kid… swayed, saying all those names, collapsing into a chair, "I am _me_ until I'm erased to become the next _Oz_."

"Erased? What the hell-"

Qrow's scroll buzzed.

"Look, I don't understand anything you just-"

And buzzed again.

"You're not making any sense-"

And again. And again.

Okay, _fine_ , he'd check his damn scroll.

_Whatever you're doing to him, stop._

_Leave him alone._

_His feelings are leaking too much._

_He doesn't deserve your anger or recrimination._

_He's doing the best he can in a terrible situation and needs support more than anything else, especially from_ you _._

"What the f-"

_Either acknowledge him or leave._

Qrow looked to the kid, collapsed in the chair, breathing heavily, sweating and grimacing, scratching at his eyes like Yang did when she didn't want anyone to know she was crying.

With a heavy sigh, Qrow worked through his nowhere-near-drunk-enough brain and rubbed at his temple. He sat on the edge of the chair and just placed an arm around a shaking shoulder.

"It's okay, Oscar," he said softly, and Oscar's hissing sob went right through Qrow's heart. Had he really been treating this kid like an adult instead of a suffering child? Just how far past tipsy was he to not notice?

Right.

Well, he knew that Oz needed to avoid fire, Qrow, himself, needed to avoid the bottle for a while, and Oscar was extremely overwhelmed. And Qrow was the best damned pawn Oz had. He could handle this.

"It's okay, Oscar."

* * *

Ironwood stood at the far end of the Beacon courtyard, overlooking the city below; his arms were crossed, his scowl heavy. Ozpin had been distracted during the council meeting, something his fellow headmaster never allowed himself to be. He was distracted, and it didn't take a genius to figure out what was on his mind: the boy.

The general couldn't understand the decisions Ozpin had made in regards to the boy - keeping him close strategically made sense but letting the boy into his _private apartments_ was beyond the pale - they didn't know anything about the boy and whatever hints the child gave on Salem's forces, Ozpin hadn't made any moves in the last twenty-four hours outside of a vague hint that Ironwood check his computer systems. Ironwood had - thoroughly - but there were no viruses, no breaches, and all account holders were either verified or dead. He was still waiting on a few last minute reports but it was starting to look like the boy's information was false, which called to question so many things. But the one time he had the boy in sights for questioning Ozpin had shot him down in the span of a few sentences.

They had met again - technically - during the opening ceremonies, and when they had shook hands Ozpin had leaned in. " _Look at all the bodies the Great War caused_ ," he had said, " _I don't want to add to that tragedy._ "

Ironwood sighed. For a centuries old wizard he was too soft. He needed a firmer hand, needed to be more demanding.

"Sulking?"

Ironwood sighed through his nose. "No," he denied.

"Yes you are," Glynda said as she moved up to him, fists on her hips.

"... all right, I am. I don't like this business with the boy. The timing is too convenient. We don't know why he's here or who he's working for or even what allegiance he is. He's an unknown agent, but Oz is treating him like a long lost son."

Glynda adjusted her glasses. "You wanted to lock him up in one of your ships before we even learned his name," she accused. "Can you blame him for not passing everything on to you?"

Ironwood turned. "We have a name for the boy?" he asked. "And Oz didn't tell me? _Why_? Haven't I proven my loyalty?"

"Loyalty, yes," Glynda replied. "Empathy? No. He's a _child_ , James, and you wanted to clap him in irons."

Ironwood shook his head. "Age doesn't matter in this war," he said. "It's past time Oz realized that."

Glynda shook her head. "Is that why you pull Hunters straight to the military?" she asked before shaking her head. "Look," she said, clearly changing topics. "A lot has happened in the last twenty-four hours. All of us are under stress, especially the headmaster. Have a care, James."

"If you care too much then you won't do what's necessary," James countered, shifting his weight. He sighed, running a hand down his face. "Look, what do we know about the boy? What did he say?"

"Kind of a sucky pawn if you don't even know what the kid is," a new voice said, Qrow appearing, tucking his omnipresent flask into his shirt. Ironwood rolled his eyes, ignoring Qrow's drunken bite.

"All I know is to check my security systems," he said. "What else is there to worry about?"

"... Fire," Qrow answered, voice low.

Glynda looked away.

"Then we can't just stand here and continue to do nothing," Ironwood said. "With our enemy on the move, it's past time we made a move ourselves. We can't have the Fall Maiden out of commission anymore. We need a replacement."

"Listen to yourself," Glynda said. "That's an injured, living girl you're talking about 'replacing' like she was some kind of-"

"We're all replaceable," Qrow said, slouched forward. "Even the three of us. The question is who we can replace her with. Reluctant or not I know Oz has been trying to find a candidate, and I think it's high time we pushed him into picking one. We need all the defenses we can get if things are about to go south. Key to the Vault or not Amber would be great to have in a fight, with her out of commission that's just one more way things could blow up in our faces."

"Agreed," Ironwood said. "We have to talk to Oz - and it has to be all three of us. Glynda?"

The blond deputy-headmistress crossed her arms, eyes narrow as she glared at them. The pause drew out slowly, but in the end she sighed. "We all have to make better decisions," she muttered softly, pushing up her glasses. "Okay. Let's tighten our ranks. If we talk to him together-"

"We might get him to see reason," Ironwood concluded.

They crossed the courtyard and entered the tower, taking the elevator up. Qrow was slouched forward as always, Glynda adjusting her glasses nervously. Ironwood knew - they wouldn't push. Not like Oz needed; he would have to be spokesman.

They entered and Ozpin was at his desk staring at a screen before he saw through it to witness their approach. He powered down the monitor and stood, a bright smile on his face. His cane wasn't with him - it was still with the boy. That damn fool.

"Greetings," the headmaster said, but his smile quickly faded at everyone's serious demeanor. "Did something happen?" he asked carefully.

"Nothing new, if that's what you mean," Glynda said. "But we do have some concerns."

Ozpin pursed his lips, and ran a hand along his temples has he was wont to do in the last two days. He sighed and took a seat, looking like he was bracing himself. "Is this about the boy?" he asked.

"In part," Qrow said, crossing his arms.

"Oz," Ironwood said, "This has gone on long enough. Right now the White Fang are linked with a criminal network and hoarding weapons right here in Vale. My own mechs were almost stolen before we captured Torchwick, but just because he's secured doesn't mean he doesn't have seconds already carrying out his orders. Now that boy had breached the Vault - the most secure section of the most secure building in Vale, with vague hints and allusions to an attack that have yet to occur. I've checked my security, Oz, there is no virus."

"That you know of," Ozpin said, raising an eyebrow. "Isn't the point of a virus that it is difficult to detect?"

"Not by my people," Ironwood said. "The boy is lying to you. He needs to be kept under guard."

A shake of the head. "No," he said softly. "I won't lock him up after what he's been through."

"And just _what_ has he been through?" Ironwood pressed. "What have you managed to get out of him?

"In terms of the immediate, precious little. In terms of himself and what it took for him to get here, more than I'm willing to say without his consent."

"He's a _foreign agent_ , Oz," Ironwood said, leaning forward and placing his palms flat on the table. "A huge security risk of unknown allegiance and a threat to everything here. _Why_ are you covering for him?"

"Because he is a _child_ ," Ozpin said, standing to meet Ironwood at eye level, "and that has to count for _something_. He should never have suffered what he's endured and-"

"Ozpin," Ironwood said, lifting his voice over his friends. "You have no leg to stand on in that argument since _you're_ the one who recruits children to win this war."

The air rushed out of the room, Ironwood's gaze intense as he watched Oz's face change, his implacable mask breaking and honest surprise, followed immediately by unheard of _hurt_ , spread across his face. Oz straightened, and Ironwood sensed both Glynda and Qrow staring at him. He didn't care, he pushed the feeling down and pressed onward. "How many of us were recruited out of the academies?" he asked. "How many of us were picked - by you - to be part of your inner circle? Well, if you think your children can win a war, she can do exactly the same thing. It's time we fought on her level. Lock him up."

Ozin blinked, twice in rapid succession, and he took a slow, deep breath through his nose, visibly catching himself before he sat down. "Did you know," he asked, "That Raven said as much, before she left?"

Ironwood heard Qrow stiffen behind him at the mention of his sister, but still he would not be moved. "That implies there's something to the argument if more than one person said it."

Ozpin sighed, leaning back in his chair. He looked up at Ironwood, and he looked old, older than he usually did; the tightness in his eyes and tilt of his brows. Glynda started to move forward, always soft when Oz got like this.

"They were never meant to be children," he said finally, hand coming up to rub his temples. "When I first started the academies, the age of adulthood was sixteen. That was too young; I wanted young adults, men and women who had already decided on their career path. The starting age for the academies was over twenty, but…" He took a breath. "Ideas get corrupted over time," he said, lacing his fingers together. "The age restriction slowly became younger and younger, and after the Vaults were completed and the kingdoms finally became safe spaces - when the academies became some of the safest places in the kingdoms…" He looked up, and so much was in his eyes Ironwood almost didn't want to look - Ozpin was giving more now than he ever had in all the years he'd known the headmaster, admitting things that were clearly deeply personal to him. "I wanted to keep the children safe," he confessed, like it was some kind of dirty secret. "So I never spoke up when the minimum ages were lowered."

Ironwood… part of him was proud that he was being trusted with this, that he had gotten a detail like this from Ozpin, but he was also bitter that he'd had to play such a card to get Ozpin to do the right thing. Children, obviously, were a sensitive spot for Oz, and Ironwood knew he wouldn't win the fight with the boy for now - but that didn't mean he didn't have other cards to play.

"If you want to protect the children," he said, throwing the words back at Ozpin, "then we should have _all_ our defenses online - and that includes the Fall Maiden."

"James…"

"No," Ironwood said. "You need to hear this: the longer we wait on finding a candidate for the Fall Maiden the longer we're in danger of whatever dire warnings that boy is enticing you with. I've already outlined the technology I brought in detail, we have the ability to transfer her aura to a different girl, we just need to _find_ her and what better place to look than here at the Vytal Festival."

Ozpin physically winced at the words, turning his chair away from Ironwood. "Please," he said softly. "You don't know what you're asking; to rip Amber's aura from her and stitch it to someone else..."

"Then give me another option, Oz," Ironwood pressed, leaning forward again. "Tell me how else we can prevent the Maiden's powers from going to her assailant who is undoubtedly working for Salem. Tell me how we can prevent whatever that boy has intelligence on."

The pause drew out, Ironwood and the others waiting on Ozpin, Ironwood watching for any little tell, any slip up, any advantage to press. His fellow headmaster looked so _sad_ , head tilted back and brow furrowed in both pain and depression. He looked to Qrow, silently begging for an out, but Qrow kept his arms crossed, just out of Ironwood's sight.

"Very well," he said finally, releasing a breath. "Tomorrow, after the semifinals, I'll have a name."

"Good," Ironwood said, folding his arms behind his back. "Thank you, Oz. You're doing the right thing."

He and Glynda moved back to the elevator, Qrow hanging back - probably to soothe the headmaster after the confrontation.

"If this is really the right thing," Glynda said as they started to go down. "Then why does it feel so wrong?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SOMEBODY HUG THEM IN THE SHOW GOD DAMN IT. These two, man, they're both so alone and the only one who understands them is the other.
> 
> Oscar - finally - is starting to actually process everything, starting with Ironwood. Oz continues to be Dadpin and Oscar finally gets something he's been desperately needing: a hug. Empathy. Understanding. And it means the world to him, because he's finally realizing he's not alone anymore: that Oz isn't this perfect person who can't relate. Feels. Just... ugh, self-indulgent FEELS.
> 
> It gives Oscar space to be a little bit of his old self: namely putting Qrow in his place by being WAY too observant and wise for a kid. Oscar is so done with Qrow's bull and it's low-key glorious, even if it's hampered by the tear and his own existential crisis. Good thing it's Oz to the rescue via text. Also, bad form Qrow - you know better! This is what happens when you're so emotionally co-dependent.
> 
> And then there's Ironwood. Like... trying to make him sound reasonable in light of the V7 finale and ESPECIALLY the stunt's he's pulling in V8... it was a delicious challenge and we hope we lived up to it. A control-freak like him isn't going to like being in the dark, and he intimated as much in V3, but hot damn not even Qrow and Glynda are going to give him intel on Oscar because he's being such a dick about it. But unfortunately that only pushes him further over the line and fight for a new Fall Maiden.
> 
> Which somehow leads back to We-Hate-Time-Travel. Not only are we not even bothering to explain the hows and whys we're working on the idea of... I think the phrase is "closed loop" rules.
> 
> And finally: children and war. Eh... it's not a great explanation, but at least it IS one and that's more than the show ever gave us. Oz is shown to have kids in his prior incarnations, that was the whole impetus of us believing he's a hardcore Dadpin, and the only reason we can think of for the schools' students to be so young is because they're the safest locations in the four kingdoms. (shrug) We tried.
> 
> Next chapter: We keep getting closer to the V3 finale. We should probably start talking about the Fall Maiden.


	6. Chapter 6

Something had happened. Oscar could feel it along the tear: the intense feeling of being cornered, blind-sided, and then hurt in a way that sent him collapsing to the nearest couch in the headmaster's apartment. His entire body _ached_ , not just raw from the tear but now the old wizard's pain was bleeding into him and he just… why did it hurt so much? When would he be well enough to go out and do… something? Ruby was here, wasn't she? And Yang and Jaune and the others - maybe if he talked to them…? But he had to be able to move without pain - he felt like an old man and he _didn't want to be the old man_.

He groaned into the back of the couch and moved to sit up, uncomfortable being on his side - again - and trying to stretch his arms and back, trying to reach the ache that had nothing to do with his physical body. The sun was setting outside, the sky starting to glow and reminding Oscar of harvest season; it had been a good crop this year, and he wondered… but he shook his head. Honestly, what would he even say? What would his aunt think?

He stood, rolling his hips and his ankles, walking around the perimeter of the room. He could see Amity Colosseum in the sky and light projecting out of it as the qualifiers and quarter finals were completed. He wondered how RWBY and JNR did, too drained to watch the feed.

The elevator dinged, and Oscar turned to see the headmaster shuffle inside, pulling his jacket off and running a hand along his temples. The old wizard sighed, soft and barely audible, looking up and freezing to see Oscar watching. All at once his back straightened and his face leveled out. "Good evening," he said, his rich tenor almost energetic. Fake. "I've just finished talking to Qrow," he added, placing his jacket over the arm of the couch, "and I've suggested he spend some time with his nieces while he's here. I don't yet know how young Miss Xiao Long will be threatened in the coming days but Qrow will be there to look out for her."

Oscar looked down. "It wasn't a threat," he said, "But she was… used. She didn't like talking about it, especially since the bigger thing was her arm…"

"Her arm?"

Oscar looked up, saw the gentle face, the soft eyes, the fakeness. "Stop doing that," he said, turning and moving to the other side of the room. "Stop hiding it all. You can't do that, not with me. Not with the tear."

The headmaster pursed his lips, breathing in through his nose. "I'm not trying to hide anything," he said, and his voice was lower, softer, sadder. "Failing any thoughts on sending you back where you want to be, I am hoping to at least alleviate your concerns. If an attack on Beacon is imminent then we will prepare for it however we can."

There, the ache in his joints again, the discomfort. Oscar looked up to the headmaster. "What happened?" he asked. "Why were you so upset earlier?"

The headmaster was silent for a long time; long enough that Oscar thought he wouldn't say anything. Oscar fingered the cane at his hip, wanting to feel comfort. The wizard finally sighed and sat heavily on the couch, running fingers through his white hair. "Sit down," he said, finally sounding tired. "It's been a long day."

Oscar took the far side of the couch, laying the cane on his lap.

"You said that Miss Nikos - Phyrra - did not survive. Do you know what happened?"

Oscar looked down, shaking his head. "It was a sore spot for everyone, Jaune especially. I remember he said he wished he could have done more, you sent them away but Phyrra went back, I think. Ruby… all she said was it hurt."

The headmaster nodded, closing his eyes and leaning deep into the couch. "I'll do what I can, tomorrow," he said softly, opening his eyes and staring at the ceiling. "I'll try to make her see…"

Frowning, Oscar looked back to the headmaster. "What happens tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow we do something desperate."

"I… don't understand."

The old wizard took a deep breath, reaching up to rub his forehead again, and Oscar felt a flare of pain under his joints. This was whatever caused the pain earlier.

"The Fall Maiden was attacked this summer," the headmaster said. "Her power was partially stolen, and she's been in a coma. There's no way to know who her power would transfer to, and for obvious reasons we don't want it to go to her attacker. James and his scientists have devised a way to transfer aura, and I'm to select the candidate."

Oscar stared. Transfer aura…? Like… like them? "That's horrible!"

"I know," the old man said, nodding slightly. "He wanted me to choose immediately, but I've been delaying. Now, with the Faunus and Torchwick's cohort, and now knowing there's going to be an attack on Beacon… we have to be prepared, and that means having a viable Maiden."

"But… how could you put anyone through that?" Oscar demanded. "Look what it's doing to us!"

"I _know_ ," the headmaster said, threading his fingers under his glasses to rub at his eyes. "I've tried to tell them, tried to explain what it's like, but they've never experienced it. To James it's just mathematics, probabilities. He has a solution and he doesn't understand why no one is taking it. Today, he finally convinced Glynda and Qrow."

"Even Qrow?"

The headmaster nodded. "It is their choice, and I cannot convince them otherwise. It was either this or lock you away as a foreign agent. At least this way I have some control over the conversation; when I talk to her I'll emphasize the dangers, try and scare her off."

"And if they make her?"

"They won't," the wizard said. "They know how much I value choice."

"And if she says yes despite how dangerous it is?"

The old man finally turned and looked at Oscar fully, Oscar's entire body shuddering with the headmaster's emotional pain. "Then it will be her choice," he said softly, sadly.

Oscar balked. "But, that's not fair!"

"No, it isn't."

"Oz!" His body physically winced with the name, and the headmaster confessed a small moan, hand once again going up to his temples. "You can't do that," he said after the flare had subsided, taking a deep breath. "You can't let them force you into doing something so terrible - not when you know how much it will hurt!"

"Sometimes we must sacrifice-"

" _No_ ," Oscar said. "Some things have to matter more. We have to stay _human_."

The headmaster reached out and took Oscar's hand on his lap, holding it for several beats and giving it a gentle squeeze. His face was mostly closed off, but Oscar could feel all the pain, he almost couldn't sit straight, the tear was so _raw_. "After I asked her my questions," the wizard said, "I swore to never use the relics again. I swore to never have them in the same place, to hide them away so _she_ would never reach them. But with four pawns she created the Great War, pitting the kingdoms against each other and shedding so much blood, spawning so many Grimm. I was the king of Vale and yet I had no power to stop it, and I had to choose. I broke…"

His voice trailed off, eyes disappearing into memory, and Oscar felt smaller, less painful pulses on the tear, faint tremors in his limbs.

"It is not binary," he said finally, eyes locking to Oscar and uncomfortably bright. "It is not a choice of holding to principles and being good; breaking promises and being bad. James isn't wrong when he talks about ends justifying the means, and sometimes you have to do something dark to do something good. Always, it is a question of how far you will tread, how dark you will become in order to create the light that humanity deserves. I asked the lamp how to win, and I risked the crown and the sword to end the war. Three of the four relics, out in the open, a hair's breadth from summoning the gods back here, just so I could stop the war. I spent the rest of that life repenting for what I did: abdicating the throne, creating the academies, finding the right people to restructure the governments so that we would not make war again. And still, it was not enough, and now-"

He broke eye contact then, sucking in a breath and it was everything Oscar could do to stay upright, so much pain was flaring through his body.

"Professor," Oscar said, looking down, reaching and covering the headmaster's hand with his own. He… he didn't know what to say. What could possibly reassure someone in the face of this…?

"I… I lost the lamp in Atlas," Oscar confessed, studying their hands. "I tried so hard, but even with Jaune and Ren and Nora, she got away. They were all so upset, Ren said they weren't ready to be Hunters, and all I wanted to do was fix the mistake. You were gone, talking to the lamp had driven you away, and I thought if I talked to the general…" His eyes welled. "He was lost without you, he wanted you back, and he didn't want to talk to me. I tried to talk him down, he was going to use the staff to lift Atlas high above Remnant, remove them from the board and just let Salem… do whatever she wanted, but…"

"But some things matter more," the headmaster said, and his free hand ran through Oscar's hair, gentle in all things. "You did the right thing, Oscar."

They both winced again, but the headmaster drew Oscar into another hug. "Don't worry," he said softly. "I'll do what I can to talk her out of it."

"But what if she says yes?"

"Then… she's worthy of being a Maiden. And I pray I'm doing the right thing."

* * *

Ozpin woke the next morning realizing he could think halfway clearly. After three days of spidering agony through his temples all he could feel was _relief_ that half the pain had gone away. He risked thinking a single word: _Oscar_. His headache spiked, but it was manageable. He almost hummed in release. He straightened and realized that, though the tear had somewhat healed, spending the night sleeping on the couch had left him with at least four kinks in his neck, wrinkles all through his clothes, and a stiffness that would take the entire morning to wear away.

In his lap was Oscar, curled into his stomach with a blanket from somewhere, nestled and warm and _oh_ , he deserved so much more than Ozpin could give him. He ran his fingers through the thick mop of hair again, Oscar nuzzled into the touch slightly before curling tighter around the headmaster.

Ozpin smiled and looked up, wondering how he could get up and get ready for the day currently trapped under his next partner. And… was that scent coffee?

Glynda came from the kitchen with two mugs, smiling to see him and giving him an offering. Ozpin took it, let the smell of the caffeine flood his synapses and wake him up through sheer anticipation. "Thank you," he said softly.

Glynda sat in a nearby chair, crossing her legs. "He looks like your son, like that," she said quietly.

He was still running his hand through his partner's hair, and he pulled it away. "He shouldn't be my next incarnation," he confessed. "He's too young. I wish I could control…"

The blond nodded, sipping her mug. "Do you know what will happen?" she asked. "When the attack will occur?"

"No," Ozpin replied. "Currently he's working on his farm in Mistral, he's listening to the Festival on the radio. He knows a little of what happened after I came to him, and he learned more from the people he joined, but the exact details…" Ozpin looked up. "I'm uncertain how much I should even be saying."

Glynda nodded again, measuring her next sentence. "How long do we even have?"

"I don't know for certain," Ozpin said, "But experience tells me she will be poetic about it, so my guess would be the finals."

"That doesn't give us a lot of time."

"No," Ozpin agreed. He took a deep breath through his nose. "Glynda, if the worst happens..."

"No," Glynda said. "I won't play that game. We're all going to make the best decisions we can, and that's all there is to be said. I know exactly what to do if the worst happens - we all do. You don't need to go there."

Ozpin's gratitude in that moment was intense, and he had to compartmentalize very quickly before it leaked through. He was the leader of this brotherhood, they needed to see him at his best - never mind the mess he had been the last few days. It was a miracle none of them had questioned his sanity. He looked down to Oscar, small and warm and - for now - safe. Oh, how he wished…

He closed his eyes. "If she says yes," he said softly, "she won't survive the attack."

Glynda immediately straightened, uncrossing her legs. "What do you mean?"

Ozpin looked to his deputy headmistress, feeling soft pulses on the tear, nothing like the last three days. "I mean," he said, "that if my choice decides to become the Fall Maiden - despite all my warnings and uncertainties, when and if the attack comes she will die. How can I ask her to do that?"

He shouldn't be saying this, he shouldn't be confessing his uncertainty, his _doubt_ , not when they all needed him to be strong and sure. But he could not bear the press of honesty he had gained in the last few days, the way Oscar and the tear and the hint of a cold day in the snow told him that holding _everything_ back ended up hurting a lot of people. Something had changed in him, and he had to learn from the half-remembered experiences. He never wanted to be stagnant, that was Salem. He wanted to grow.

Glynda seemed to mull the confession, sipping her coffee, before she looked up. "Don't ask her," she said. "Leave it to me. I'll be the spokeswoman. I'll take the responsibility."

"Glynda, no, I'm the one choosing-"

"But she doesn't need to know that, not yet. We've survived as long as we have because you've always been very careful about who you trust. The candidate doesn't need to know all the details, not yet. For now, all we need is someone who is safe."

Ozpin shook his head. "She is so much more than someone who is 'safe.' They always have been. The the story of the maidens-"

"They're more than just a story."

Ozpin looked down, saw Oscar rubbing his eyes as he lifted himself off the headmaster's lap. His future partner tugged at the blanket, hazel eyes turning slowly to Glynda. "They're tributes to his first children," he said, swinging his legs to the floor. "They're precious to him, the same way the cane is. They mean the world to him, and you're asking him to sacrifice one of them just for being 'safe.'"

Glynda starred, green eyes wide. Her gaze moved to Ozpin and he looked away, afraid of what she would think. "They were never supposed to be pawns like this," he said. "They were meant to be an inspiration, just as they had been to me. They were meant to spread good deeds, bring hope, be more than…" He shook his head. "Now Amber is injured, barely clinging to life, and our first concern is not to her, but who her power falls to."

"And grafting someone aura onto someone else," Oscar added, looking down. "It's so painful. And the merger; the shared memories, the loss of identity, the fight for control of your own body…" He looked down at his hands "Who would want that?" he asked. "Who would ask that of anyone?"

Ozpin looked to Glynda, and her gaze was soft. She sipped her coffee again, crossing one leg over another. "I can see why you'll go to him next," she said. "And I at least understand your concerns. You said earlier that we all have to make better decisions, and you say that your choice will die if she says yes. Very well; is there a different candidate? Someone else who we can use?"

Oscar looked up to Ozpin, and he felt his headache begin to flare. "There is another choice, but she's even younger," he said, resigned. "Even if I broadened my scope to the other academies, all of them are just children. The teachers? Possibly, but what time do any of us have to vet any of them? As you all pointed out yesterday: we're out of time." He took a deep breath and rubbed at his temples. "This is my fault, I suppose," he said. "James wanted me to move so much faster."

Glynda immediately scoffed. "His answer to everything is a clenched first half raised," she said. "For a general he doesn't understand the value of strategy nearly as much as he thinks he does."

"No," Oscar said, and Ozpin felt his next partner's pain. "He's just willing to sacrifice whatever it takes to win. Even… parts of himself."

"Well," Glynda said. "He can only fall so far before we kick him out. With him combing through his computers and Qrow out from under foot for a day or two, I can handle the evaluations of the staff, and you two can rest. When do you want to meet-"

"After JNPR's match," Ozpin said, forcing himself to commit.

Glynda nodded, standing. "I'll let James know. In the meantime, rest up, monitor the Festival from your office. I'll make sure you're not disturbed."

She left.

"The other candidate," Oscar said as soon as she was gone. "You were thinking about Ruby, weren't you?"

"... Yes," Ozpin said. "But she's only fifteen."

"Why… why did you bring her here, let her enroll early, if you didn't want to pick from children?"

Ozpin turned to look at Oscar, but his gaze was down, at his hands that held the Long Memory. Ozpin reached out, covered one of those hands with his own. "She has silver eyes," he said simply. "That means she has skills that even I do not fully understand. She needed to be kept safe, and though it was never my intention, the academies are the safest spaces in the kingdom for more than just relics. Here she can learn to protect herself - not just from the Grimm - and she can grow and thrive without danger of…" he froze, and looked down himself. "Well, I suppose that notion is foolish, now."

Oscar looked up, and he smiled. "You know," he said, "I… kind of feel like I know you now, better than I did when you were in my head. You're more open now."

"Open," Ozpin replied, drawing the word out. "I have a hint of a memory, along the tear and more painful than anywhere else: us in the snow, and someone asking: _what is Ozpin hiding from us?_ "

"... Yeah," Oscar said, and he pulled away. "That's… that wasn't… it was a bad day for everyone. That was what we asked Jinn."

Ozpin looked at the mug of coffee Glynda had brought with her, warm in his hand. "I gathered as much," he said.

"It was after Haven. You covered for Lionheart even though he betrayed you, you didn't want anyone to carry the lamp, and you had lied… You told us the questions had been used up but I knew… and I didn't understand why, and you didn't want to talk, and I could feel all these secrets and…"

"She told you everything, I take it?"

Oscar looked down. "Yeah. Everyone was yelling, I was locked away screaming as I realized just what this," he gestured vaguely, "meant for me, and Qrow… he took it badly. He hit you - well, _me_ \- he hit you, and he was shaking, and he said… he said…" Oscar looked up. "You locked yourself away, after that. You didn't speak again until Ironwood shot me, when I was falling through Atlas. And then I was here."

Ozpin nodded, looking down at his empty hands. "Secrets," he said. "They are a heavy burden, and even before all this was started I was never completely certain how much of my own thoughts I could or should say. I became a knight, in part, because speaking my mind led to laughter; and I knew, with every fiber of my being, that I was more than that. I thought I could share all my thoughts with Salem, but then I learned I was ill and everything that followed…" Ozpin shook his head, turning from Ozma's memories. Visiting them always hurt. He looked back to Oscar. "As with all things, there is a balance, I suppose. How much one can say at any given time varies not only from life to life but from person to person. Some people I have told secrets to and been met with sworn fealty, placing me on a pedestal that I never wanted to be lifted to. Others betrayed me to her or to someone else. More often than not the latter. It is a question of trust."

"Trust…" Oscar looked down again. "I think… I think people need to trust in love, more. The general, he stopped trusting, and that was why he did what he did. Qrow was hurt so badly because you didn't trust him with the truth, and in turn he hurt you. But RWBY, even after everything they've been through, they still trust each other, and they still fight together. They still _fight_ , even after learning the truth. That has to count for something."

Ozpin pushed forward and hugged his partner. "It does," he said. "It matters more than you can know."

"I do know," he said into Ozpin's chest. "I can feel it through the tear."

Ozpin smiled, giving another squeeze, before standing. "If we have the day to ourselves, I'm going to go to the council."

Oscar looked up. "What? Why?"

Pulling at his waistcoat, he explained: "After the failure at Mountain Glenn and with the White Fang uprisings, my ability to lead has been called into question, as has my very position as headmaster at Beacon."

His future partner's eyes widened, straightening on the couch. "What? Why? Why would they-" he froze. "The general," he said, voice low and sad.

"James means well," Ozpin said, "He always does; but he is a little unbending. More than I initially thought after what you've told me. Normally I'd let my work speak for itself but I think it's time I started playing politics myself." He made a face, dreading the meeting as he moved into his room and opening his closet. "I don't expect you to come with me," he said, raising his voice slightly. "No doubt you are feeling significantly better this morning compared to the last few days."

Oscar hung in the doorway, in his rumpled, too-big school uniform. "I do," he said, frowning slightly and moving his limbs.

Ozpin turned, studying his partner, knowing what he wanted to do even without the tear bleeding his feeling across it. "I won't confine you," he said, "But I hope you understand that with an imminent attack you might not wish to wander too far. Especially if security will collapse as you imply it will."

Oscar looked down. "I know," he said, leaning on the frame of the door. "But I want to talk to Ruby, if I can find her. She should know what's coming."

The boy was so thoughtful of others, and Ozpin's heart melted in warmth. He reached out to squeeze his future partner's shoulder, but the boy shied away again.

"You keep doing that," he said. "Were you always…?"

And Ozpin smiled, even as he put his hand behind him. "Yes," he said. "As we grow closer, you will feel the gestures more. Sometimes it's the only way I can offer solace and…"

Oscar nodded, pulling out the Long Memory, having been retracted on his hip. "You'll need this, won't you?" he asked, holding it out, and Ozpin loved the boy even more, reaching out and pushing it back.

"You need it more," he said, "If you're going to go outside."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3am conversation. The most profound stuff seems to happen in the dead of night in this fic. Just... the stuff Oz confesses. For a paragon of good his life experience makes his decision making very - very - grey, and he's just so interesting when you pick him apart like this. Oscar won't cross those lines yet, and that makes their dynamic even more interesting.
> 
> Also, we finally heal the tear a little, but now there's a new wrinkle. With less pain they can feel each other's emotions. Also, choice and the Fall Maiden.
> 
> Glynda is also the certified Best Thing, tossing away final requests like it's nothing and casually offering to be the spokesperson for the lore-dump when the time comes. And Oscar - for the first time - defends Oz. Bet you won't see that again :P
> 
> Next chapter: Oscar finally steps outside the tower.


End file.
